


I'm Not That Strong (Honestly, I'm Not)

by ceterisparibus



Series: Ella [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Avocados at Law, F/M, Foggy Nelson Is a Good Bro, Food is a love language, Headaches & Migraines, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Karen Page perseveres, Legal Drama, Matt Murdock & Foggy Nelson Friendship, Stick is the actual worst, Whump, but he kinda needs to chill, so does Matt (obviously)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-20 23:48:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16565477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceterisparibus/pseuds/ceterisparibus
Summary: Foggy takes on a case involving child abuse and attempts to: a) protect Matt from further trauma; b) treat Matt like a child himself; or c) hinder Matt's personal growth - depending on whom you ask. Meanwhile, Matt runs into one of Stick's old pupils.





	1. Forgive Me, I Don't Meant to Intrude

Foggy

“You’re on our calendar, Mr. Burnham,” Foggy said as warmly as possible, and the new client thanked him before ending the call. Foggy shot a look towards Matt’s office. The door was cracked.

 “I’m fine,” Matt’s voice said immediately.

Foggy stifled a sigh. “Didn’t say you weren’t, buddy.”

Apparently, that wasn’t worthy of response. Probably because Matt knew better than anyone that just because Foggy didn’t say something didn’t mean he wasn’t thinking it.

And in this instance, he’d be right.

The case involved parental abuse. A mom’s negligence and a dad’s physical abuse. And Foggy knew Matt had heard every word of that conversation.

The thing was, Matt oscillated. Some days were I-realize-more-or-less-the-enormity-of-what-I-experienced days wherein he didn’t immediately bristle when Foggy or Karen somehow suggested that he was still recovering from trauma. Other days, he seemed to take great personal offense at the slightest hint that things weren’t perfectly normal in the world of Nelson, Murdock, and Page.

(Aside from the fact that one of them still moonlit as a vigilante, but that was old news by this point.)

The quiet in the new office suddenly felt heavy. Foggy stood up and stretched. Then he wandered into the kitchen and dithered for a bit—like, what, no reason, just looking for a snack he knew wasn’t there. Then he rolled his eyes at himself. He and Matt were adults and, more importantly, they were somehow still best friends. Foggy didn’t need to pull off an elaborate mission of stealth and redirection just to express concern for Matt.

He walked straight into his friend’s office without knocking. “Okay, you got me. I’m betting you just heard that entire conversation and I’m not gonna even try to pretend I’m not worried about you, because clearly that won’t work.”

To his dismay, Matt unhooked one of his earbuds from his ear; the other was still in place. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that?”

“You—” Foggy cut himself off. He wasn’t Matt; he had no way to tell if he was lying. But Foggy got the hint anyway. Obviously, today was an I’m-supposed-to-be-fine day, and if there was one thing Foggy was learning from both Matt and Karen’s numerous mistakes, it was that sometimes the best line of attack was not kicking the metaphorical hornet’s nest. “Never mind.”

Matt did that doubtful little head tilt.

“Never mind,” Foggy insisted, backing out and making his way back to his own office. Graham Burnham, the caller, was a representative from Everett Children’s Home, which was building a case regarding termination of parental rights and transfer of custody and guardianship of the child, six-year-old Ella Conway. After a teacher finally reported suspicions of abuse and neglect, the Department of Social Services placed Ella at Everett’s. But the parents wanted Ella back.

And Foggy had already determined that he’d fight with everything he had to keep her safe from them.

He just also needed to figure out how to keep Matt away from it.

 

“I’m taking a long lunch,” he announced to the office at large a few hours later. “Matt? Karen?”

“I’m good,” said Matt, predictably, from behind his desk.

“Karen?” Foggy prodded.

Blowing a tendril of hair out of her face, Karen looked up apologetically from her laptop. “Actually, I’m in the middle of a chain of research here—”

He jerked his head towards the door and mouthed the word, “Please.”

Her eyes narrowed and she jerked her chin pointedly towards Matt.

Foggy raised his eyebrows, wishing they were as expressive as Matt’s, and made a complicated series of hand gestures that a Navy Seal would probably be able to interpret correctly.

She shook her head.

He held up his hands in a heart shape, then broke the heart in half.

Rolling her eyes, she stood up, snatching her keys. “Fine.”

Outside, she opened her mouth.

“What’re you feeling like?” he asked loudly. “Chinese?” He dragged her another block or so. “Okay. We should be out of his range.”

“He can hear _that_ far?”

“If he’s trying, which he probably was, because you were super suspicious back there. We’ve gotta work on your poker face. Poker voice and body language, actually.”

“You were the one being all weird and secretive!”

He discounted that.

“What’s going on, Foggy?”

“I need you to run interference. There’s a new case—”

“The Everett case?”

He gaped at her. “How do you know that? You weren’t even in the office when they called.”

“I did some digging.” She just gave a smug little smile and looped her arm through his as they kept walking. “What do you mean, interference?”

“I have to take this case. But I don’t think Matt should be involved.”

She didn’t say anything, but her face clearly told him he had to do better to convince her to help.

“The father—”

“I know what he did and I know what the mother did. I dug, remember? That doesn’t explain why you don’t want Matt working on this. You guys have done family law before. You’ve even done abuse before.”

“Not since his mentor died and he found out his mom abandoned him for thirty years.”

“Foggy,” she reproached. “He’s a grown-up. You can’t coddle him.”

“He’s still not okay and I don’t wanna push him.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “Doesn’t mean I have to help you. What exactly do you want me to do about it, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” he said helplessly. “Just…set up another meeting or something at the same time, so he can’t be at the office when Mr. Burnham shows up.”

“You guys keep forgetting I’m not working as your secretary anymore.”

“But we also bow before your superior secretarial skills.”

She still didn’t look convinced.

“Please? I’ll buy you that new scarf you’ve been—”

“Foggy, I won’t betray Matt for a _scarf_.”

“It’s not betrayal,” he argued. “I’m trying to help him. You and I both thought he was dead not three months ago, and the man himself wouldn’t have disagreed with us.”

She led the way into a Chinese restaurant. “You and Matt both need to stop trying to keep people out of things for their own good. It never works.”

Foggy changed tactics at lightning speed. “Not for Matt’s own good. I don’t think he’d be objective with this case, which isn’t in the best interest of the client or the little girl. Besides, it’s my license at risk if this thing goes sideways.”

“Yeah, _that’s_ what your license would be at risk for.”

Frustrated, he folded his hands on the table and leaned closer. “Karen. Please. Do me this one favor and I’ll owe you whatever you want.”

“But, see, it won’t just be one favor, you know? First it’s scheduling the other meeting, then it’s redirecting phone calls, then it’s hiding files. Eventually I’ll be setting up a new, secret office just for your meetings on the Everett case.”

He scowled.

“Ask me how I know this.”

“How,” he asked dully.

“Because you and Matt apparently included in your partnership contract that you’ll do absolutely everything with maximum levels of drama and regret.”

“That’s never been _my_ fault!”

“It takes two,” she said sweetly. “Sorry, Foggy. You’re on your own. Also, you’re buying lunch.”

 

Matt

Foggy and Karen returned smelling strongly of Chinese takeout. Foggy had finally stopped “accidentally getting too much” and leaving the excess in conspicuous places once Matt pointed out that his reluctance with food went beyond poor time management or a thin wallet. Most of the stuff Foggy ordered left a coat of oil over his tongue. Matt preferred bringing food from home or just taking a short lunch break on his own, where he could think through things.

Anyway, they couldn’t have been more obvious about their secret-keeping, but Matt wasn’t too concerned. Or…he was trying not to be too concerned. For one thing, keeping secrets wasn’t really anything new for Nelson, Murdock, and Page. More importantly, there was this new thing called “trust” that he was trying out, just to see how it worked.

True, secrets kind of made trust harder. But Matt preferred to think of it as a challenge.

Their secret almost certainly revolved around the new case, the case he and Foggy hadn’t technically taken yet. A Mr. Graham Burnham, representing Everett’s Children’s Home, had an appointment tomorrow at noon. Matt did a few quick searches for New York cases relating to the relevant laws, but he already had a pretty good grasp of family law. Better than Foggy’s, actually, since Foggy’s choice of electives and externships in law school had circled almost exclusively around criminal procedure. And tax law, because Foggy had an impressive personal vendetta against the IRS due to some incident from the fall of 2009 that Matt wasn’t allowed to ask about.

The day wound down without any other covert meetings and Matt was pretty proud of himself for not investigating on his own initiative. They reconvened in the lobby, per Karen’s rule that they all check in with each other at the end of each day. He brought the hacky sack he kept in his desk, per Foggy’s rule that they use “the talking ball” to share. He also brought a mental list of next steps he needed to take on his various projects, per his own rule that they outline immediate objectives for the following day. (Foggy had vehemently protested, insisting it was too much like homework, but he’d been overruled.)

“I’ll start,” Karen said cheerily, like she did every single day, and Matt passed her the hacky sack. “I finally got everything lined up, so I’m touring the factory for the McGregor case tomorrow. I’ll report back what I find with regards to warnings, guardrails, et cetera. Anything else I should keep an eye out for?”

“Ninjas, probably,” Foggy said.

“Cameras,” Matt said at the same time, glaring at Foggy. “It’s possible they left some footage out of the batch they sent us, footage with a better angle of the accident or something.”

“You got it.” There was the scratch of a pen against paper as she took a note. “Okay, that’s me. Matt?” She threw the hacky sack. She threw it harder every day, but he always caught it.

“I need to go over more of those emails from the execs.”

“Objection,” Foggy cut in. “That’s been your answer for the past three days.”

“It’s a lot of emails, Foggy. The McGregor case is huge, over—”

“Ten thousand emails, Matt. I know. You’ve told us. Repeatedly.”

“Forty a day per employee,” Karen quoted.

He scowled. “Right. Well. You should have stipulated against repeat answers and until we add that to the rules, I’m sticking with it. Your turn.” He tossed the ball at Foggy, who caught it and threw right it back. Matt rolled his eyes heavenward behind his glasses. “All right, sorry. I’m also going down by the docks tonight. There should be a weapons shipment to intercept. Now I’m done. Go on, Foggy.” He threw the hacky sack, a bit harder than strictly necessary, and Foggy winced when it hit him squarely in the chest.

Karen inhaled quickly and quietly. “Actually, Matt, add a lunch meeting with Johnson and Allaire to your to-do list tomorrow. They heard about the McGregor case and want to offer their help with all the files.”

Oh, she was fast, setting that up already. “In exchange for the chance to hunt for some incriminating evidence so they can take a crack at the same defendant?” Matt guessed. Lifting his glasses, he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’m almost done with the emails. I don’t need help.”

“You’re not even at the halfway point.”

“I’m _almost_ done.”

“Think of it as a favor, buddy,” Foggy pushed. “Johnson and Allaire are a big firm; it’d be nice if they gave us some referrals or something sometime. Just have lunch. It won’t kill you.”

Matt sighed. “And you?” he asked, though he knew the answer.

Foggy picked up the hacky sack from the floor. “I’m meeting that new client. The one you creepily eavesdropped on.”

“And good thing I did, since I apparently won’t be around for the initial interview,” Matt pointed out a bit more waspishly than he meant.

“Okay,” Karen said loudly. “Good meeting, guys. Let’s go save the world.”

“Get some sleep before you go out tonight, Murdock,” Foggy ordered, already halfway out the door. He had a date with Marci, if Matt recalled correctly.

“You will, won’t you?” Karen asked, stepping into her coat as Matt held it out for her.

“Meditation works better.”

“Meditation, huh?” She wrapped her scarf around her neck. It sounded like it was wearing a bit thin, and Matt wished not for the first time that she hadn’t had to take a pay cut to work here at Nelson, Murdock, and Page. “You actually do that?”

“It helps with healing and concentration. I could show you how, sometime.”

“Think it would ward off my spring allergies?”

He smiled. “We could test that.”

“I’ll hold you to it.” She stepped outside and started locking the door. It was quite a process, since Karen and Foggy had each independently supplied additional locks. Glad as he was that they were so much more cautious now, he hated that he’d allowed their fear to become justified in the first place. “Oh, and Matt? I’m sorry about that lunch meeting. I shouldn’t have set you up like that without asking you first.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He smirked. “Foggy can be very persuasive. Trust me, I know.”

She didn’t bother pretending she didn’t know what he was talking about. “He just wants to take care of you. I thought maybe you should let him, once in a while.”

“Once in a while, maybe, but not at the expense of a client.”

“Just let him do the first interview, and see how it goes? Foggy might realize it’s not that big of a deal in a week.”

Part of his brain recognized that she was right, but that didn’t make a lot of difference. He and Foggy were supposed to be partners. Not…babysitter and ward.

 _Trust_ , he reminded himself sternly. Which extended to giving Foggy the benefit of the doubt. He’d certainly earned it. “Yeah. We’ll touch bases at tomorrow’s we-love-each-other meeting.”

“That’s not what it’s called,” she protested. “It’s a review session.”

Grinning, he raised his eyebrows.

“Or a planning meeting. Or…ugh, I don’t know. Something professional.”

“Whatever you say, Karen.” He paused, listening. It was late enough that no one was nearby. He slid his sunglasses off his face and folded up his cane. “And, Karen, about the factory tour?”

“I swear, Matt, if you tell me to be careful—”

He ducked his head and pressed a swift kiss to her cheek. “Be careful,” he whispered, then took off at a sprint before she could retaliate.


	2. I Wait With Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's fine. I don't need a life. Also, what Matt considers a "slightly gratuitous" spinning kick you should take to mean "extremely gratuitous and utterly unnecessary."

Matt

Karen’s indignant protests rang in his ears as he dashed away. Despite the high stakes of the McGregor case, he wasn’t actually worried someone would try to stab her or something during her investigation. In fact, he wasn’t really worried about her at all right now. It was a strange and welcome feeling.

Once he was sure she wasn’t going to chase him down, he slowed to a walk, replaced his glasses, and unfolded his cane. It snapped back together and he snapped back into his public daylight self. It made for a slower trip to the church, but the air was surprisingly clear, almost refreshing (if he filtered out eighty percent of the things he could smell and taste). It was nice.

The church smelled even better as he drew near. The nuns kept it impeccably clean, despite its huge size. Their diligence struck Matt as evidence of their devotion. Sometimes he felt like if he just lingered in this place long enough, he might absorb some their faith.

Given that he was still rebuilding his own, he figured he needed all the extra faith he could get.

“Matthew!” Sister Maggie greeted him just outside, reaching to give him a hug—like always. It was a quick thing every time, her arms like butterfly wings brushing against him before she let go and stepped back. But she’d hugged him the first time he decided to visit after work and she hadn’t missed an opportunity since.

Matt pretended he didn’t immensely enjoy it and she pretended to believe him.

“Hi, Mom." He gained a bit more confidence each time he pushed the words past his throat.

She pretended it was normal to hear him say it and he pretended he couldn’t hear her heart skip.

“How was work today?” she asked, leading him into the church and down the stairs to the basement, to the room that had at one point been the only home he’d known. He’d barely crossed the threshold before she was handing him laundry.

“More emails,” he answered, running his fingers over the cloth. He was thankful she put him to work. He still remembered the first time he’d been in this room after Fisk’s capture: Maggie had brought him down to make sure he hadn’t left anything behind that he wanted, but he’d barely taken two steps before the weight of everything he’d experienced in this basement fell onto him as if with physical force. The dampness of the air, the sound of footsteps above, and the smell, the _smell_ of the place…he’d stood there, brain locked in the past, trying to make sense of everything he’d felt and sensed then compared with everything he was feeling and sensing in the present. She’d taken his hand and brought him to the racks of towels and linens, talking quietly about nothing important, and put him to work until he’d come back to reality.

“Still on the emails?” She passed him a tangled pile of sheets for him to straighten.

“Karen’s going to check out the actual location tomorrow, do some informal discovery. I’m hoping she’ll find something to prove they withheld evidence and we can try to sanction them. Judge Main likes me, so he’d probably sustain our objection.”

“Karen, hmm?” Maggie settled in to work beside him. “How _is_ she?”

“Brilliant as usual,” he said lightly.

“And?”

It seemed unfair that she could read him so easily. “And…I’m taking her on a date this week,” he admitted.

“Matthew!” She slapped him with a towel. “When was that decided?”

“Couple of days ago. Ow.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“You do realize that we already dated before. It’s not—”

“That was completely different and you know it,” she said dismissively. “Whatever you had before, it was certainly not a real relationship involving mutual trust and honesty.”

He separated the last of the bedsheets and started folding and stacking them. “I know, I know, I get it.”

“You should come here before you meet her.”

“What? Why?”

“Well, _someone_ has to shape all that hair of yours into something respectable.”

Who was this woman? “Mom,” he spluttered.

“Doesn’t she deserve the best version of you?” Maggie stretched up on her toes, straining to smooth his hair back.

He ducked away, but he was laughing. Besides, it felt nice.

 

No one was laughing that night. Matt suited up in his black fatigues, since he'd been unable to uncover what had happened to Melvin, probably because of the bureaucratic mess still strangling the FBI in the wake of Fisk's second arrest. Matt still felt guilty for failing to protect Melvin, but at least patrolling to patrol the streets without armor sharpened his reflexes. So, there was an upside.

The voice in the back of his head suggested unhelpfully that the reason he didn’t have his suit back was because he’d lost the right to wear it and hadn’t yet earned it back. Matt tuned the voice out.

Five heartbeats were at the docks, still awaiting the weapons shipment. Perched on some industrial scaffolding, Matt debated striking now or later; in another hour or so, the rest of their team would probably arrive. He could take them all out at once. On the other hand, something he’d learned from Stick was that fear was sometimes the most powerful weapon you had, and despite Stick’s minimal regard for human life, he at least recognized that dead men could neither feel nor spread fear.

If Matt took these men out now, their companions would discover their broken bodies and know that the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen had a message for them.

(He’d also call the cops to ambush the latecomers and take possession of the weapons. He just wanted to taste the fear first.)

Matt dropped from the ledge, landing silently and approaching the group, sticking to the shadows. He’d dug out his old wooden batons and now used one to take out the sentry; Matt shoulder-rolled forward to catch the body as it slumped before it could hit the ground. He gently laid the man on the cold gravel and moved on to the next. Creeping directly behind his target, he struck him on the temple, then folded the limp body and nudged it behind a tarp.

Just three to go. Time for fun. Matt threw his batons at two of the guns, then swiped up a rock to knock the remaining gun from the third man’s hands. One of the weapons went off when it struck the ground, a spray of bullets ricocheting off metal. A slightly gratuitous spinning kick dispatched the first man; the second was reaching for his gun, so Matt grabbed the third, manipulating his arms behind his back and breaking most of the fingers on his left hand. Using him as a shield, Matt stalked the remaining enemy, who shouted obscenities but didn’t fire his reclaimed gun.

Yet.

Matt was willing to bet he didn’t really have any qualms about shooting his companion if it meant shooting Matt, so he only had a couple more seconds to pull this off. But then something sharp cut through the night and the remaining enemy sank to the ground, blood sluicing from his throat.

Matt quickly knocked his human shield unconscious and spun around just as a new man jumped down from the same piece of scaffolding Matt had used as a vantage point.  He picked up one of Matt’s batons and hurled it; Matt dodged just in time, leaping up onto a stack of crates. The man threw the other baton and Matt flipped through the air over the projectile, landing behind the man and twisting his arm sharply behind his back.

He didn’t even hesitate before shifting his weight and flipping forward, breaking the hold.

“Stop!” Matt shouted.

The other man stilled.

“Who taught you that move?”

“You know who.”

Stick. Matt took three steps to the side and grabbed one of the batons. “Are you with the Chaste?”

“I’ve been looking for you,” the other man said. “Daredevil.”

Matt didn't answer, simply twirling the baton in his right hand as he waited tensely.

“They say you were there when it happened. Stick came back for you and you let him get killed.”

“It was the Hand.”

“That doesn’t make any difference to me.” He stepped forward; Matt held his position. “I’ve got work to do, cleaning up the mess you and your friends made. So tell me now: do you plan on getting in my way?”

“Do you plan on hurting innocents?”

“In New York?” he mocked.

“Answer the question,” Matt growled.

“I’ll do what it takes, and if you get in my way, I’ll make you wish the Hand had killed you instead.” With that, he tugged his knife from the dead man’s throat. “Just thought you deserved a warning,” he tossed over his shoulder as he climbed like a gymnast back up the scaffolding.

His heartbeat rang loud and clear as he left, taking a rooftop route similar to the one Matt had used to get here. Matt could follow. Matt _should_ follow. But then no one be around to make sure the cops got here in time, and all the illegal firearms would fall into the hands of the rest of the criminals soon to arrive. Swearing, Matt slunk into the shadows and pulled out his burner phone.

 

Foggy

Foggy barely saw either Matt or Karen the next day. Their little firm was growing, requiring more and more of their finite time. But Karen had done her job: when lunchtime rolled around, Matt was nowhere near the office.

Graham Burnham looked like Foggy’s favorite uncle, all plaid shirt and reddish hair, and when Foggy started asking questions, all his answers circled back to Ella Conway. The six-year-old had obviously stolen his hear and he seemed to have zero interest in stealing it back. Foggy learned a lot of legally irrelevant information about Ella’s personality: her love for birds, her tendency to share deserts with whichever child happened to be seated next to her, the way she asked for help to write her mother letters asking why Mommy wasn’t around anymore…after forty-five minutes, Foggy realized that he was also enamored. He also realized that he may have underestimated Burnham, who clearly knew what he was doing when it came to securing representation to fight for Ella.

Foggy wanted to take the case then and there. Instead, he moved into more legal questions about Everett’s Children’s Home itself and its interactions with Ella, the police, and the Conways.

“We did, of course, offer help to the parents. Especially the mother, since she’s around more often. We recommended counseling, for one thing.”

“Who was the counselor?”

“Rebeca Tucker.”

Foggy made a note. “What else did you do?”

Burnham steepled his fingers. “We arranged for supervised visitation with the mother, once she separated from the father. Ella hasn’t been with us long enough yet for us to have any information to share, but once we do, we’ll keep the mother updated on Ella’s progress and development.”

Foggy was impressed. Everett’s seemed to be meeting its obligations, and if the home had put in effort to rehabilitate the mother to no avail, the court would be unlikely to allow Mrs. Conway to take Ella back. He switched to a new issue. “These arranged visits, how frequent are they supposed to be?”

“Once a week at minimum. If the mother cooperates.”

“Has she, so far?”

“She hasn’t missed one yet.”

Foggy made another note. The parent’s ability to maintain contact with the child was only part of the equation. He posed some other questions, artfully designed to draw out longer responses. He dug into the history of communication with Mrs. Conway, all attempting to get at whether Mrs. Conway had any realistic plans for caring for Ella not just now but in the future. The news he heard, however, was mixed: some evidence of a plan, some evidence that Conway hadn’t thought that far ahead. He’d need to do some more digging and meet with Mrs. Conway.

Then he turned to address the father and allegations of physical abuse. Burnham explained that the teacher, Melissa Drennan, had reported seeing suspicious bruises. Ella herself had yet to say what caused the bruises, but Burnham added that Ms. Drennan thought she might have confided in another classmate.

Well, Ms. Drennan’s words were, at this point, hearsay. Foggy would need to meet with her, too. He added another note to his notepad, which was by now filled with scribbles.

“When did she notice these bruises? Are they recurring?”

“She has a lot of kids in her care. She says she only remembered really noticing about three weeks into the school year, but they've been pretty consistent.”

“Do you know who was Ella’s teacher the previous year?”

“Cody Moore.”

“Great.” Foggy added the name to his list. “We’ll check in with him, see if he can add any pieces to the puzzle.” If they could prove that the abuse occurred repeatedly, that would further support a court order that no reasonable efforts to reunite Ella with her father should be required of Everett’s. Clearing his throat, he softened his voice. “And…does anything lead you to believe that any of the abuse was sexual?”

“Not to Ella,” Burnham said darkly.

Foggy nodded. “Mr. Conway has a previous conviction for sexual abuse.” He’d already looked into it. That, coupled with the teachers’ testimony if they were willing, certainly seemed to be making a strong case…at least against the father. There was less decisive evidence regarding the mother’s negligent treatment. Still. Some of the tension in Foggy’s chest loosened a little. He asked a few more questions before wrapping up the interview.

“You’ll take the case?” Burnham asked.

“I just need to discuss it with my partner, and do a bit more research based off the facts you’ve given me, just to make sure we can represent you well.” Foggy wished he could tack on an assurance that they would, but he had a partner, albeit a partner he’d deliberately double-booked. Giving Burnham any further promises would be unprofessional.

The worry lines didn’t disappear from the other man’s forehead, but he smiled. “Thank you so much for your time.”

The second the door was closed behind him, Foggy started making phone calls. He learned that Cody Moore might be willing to meet, but he couldn’t get ahold of Melissa Drennan. Then he called Brett asking for more information on Mr. Conway’s previous convictions. It took some finagling and a promise of more cigars for Bess, but most sex offenses were not eligible for sealing under New York law. Foggy was confident he’d get the information he needed. Nevertheless, by the time he was satisfied that he’d done all he could for the day, it was late.

He frowned. Had he missed the we-love-each-other meeting? He opened his office door and saw a sticky note from Matt. The paper was covered in purple ducklings, a fact of which Matt was blissfully unaware. His handwriting was, as usual, a scribbled mess, but Foggy was fluent. Apparently, Karen’s investigation had gone on longer than intended and she wasn’t going to be back at the office and Matt had “something to look into,” so he hadn’t stuck around either.

So Foggy collected his keys, wallet, and jacket and made his way straight to Matt’s apartment, using his spare key to let himself in.

He stopped for a moment just to appreciate the sight before him: the place was clean and whole and lived-in. No piles of mail stacked on the coffee table. The single fact that the coffee table was there in one piece was a blessing.

It was too late for coffee that wasn’t decaf, and Matt, who seemed to have something against decaf, didn’t own any. Foggy meandered into the kitchen to make tea. No, not as a peace offering. Just because sometimes grown men like to sit and drink tea together. Nothing weird about it.

What was weird was that Karen seemed to have reorganized everything, because Foggy couldn’t find Matt’s special collection of herbs and miscellaneous tea stuff. Because Matt drank exclusively loose leaf tea. Because he was the kind of person who insisted he could taste filter paper.

Instead, Foggy pulled open a drawer and found only one thing inside: a small, crumpled circle made of old, faded wax paper.

The heck?


	3. This Room is Thick with Words

Foggy

Foggy picked up the bracelet thing gingerly. Well, it wasn’t the weirdest thing Matt owned. Maybe it helped with meditation or something? It didn’t _feel_ particularly nice, but he remembered Matt’s affections for nice, subtle smells, so…he sniffed it, and then wondered how his life had gotten to the point where he was standing in his best friend’s kitchen sniffing random paper bracelets.

Whatever. There were no witnesses.

So Foggy put the bracelet on the table to remind himself to ask Matt about it later and set to work hunting down some tea. He wasn’t really sure when Matt would be home and it occurred to him that maybe Matt would be hungry, so he decided to make pancakes too. The big, fluffy ones that Matt said saved his life during finals. But by the time the pancakes were done (and so was the tea, after Foggy finally found it), Matt still wasn’t home.

Foggy valiantly did not panic. He helped himself to some waffles and played some games on his phone.

Matt still wasn’t back.

In fairness, Foggy didn’t know when Matt usually got back from Daredeviling. For all he knew, this was totally normal. But it was almost one in the morning. How much sleep did Matt get each night?

Another hour passed. Foggy made more tea because the previous stuff was lukewarm and Matt found microwaves disgusting on principle. The pancakes were less fluffy and also room temperature.

It was almost three and Foggy was fighting not to fall asleep on the couch when the door to the roof opened. Matt didn’t look _obviously_ injured, but some weird energy seemed to vibrate off him as he came down the stairs, mask and all. “So you just let yourself in?”

“You gave me the key,” he reminded him through a yawn.

“You gotta stop doing that, Foggy.”

“So take back the key.” They both knew he could if he wanted.

Matt visibly gritted his teeth and yanked off the mask. It was weird watching him go from creepy-street-ninja to best-friend-who-looks-hot-in-black so quickly. “Any particular _reason_ you felt the need to break into my apartment?”

Foggy yawned again. “Someone’s in a bad mood.”

He expected one of those automatic apologies (and felt kind of guilty for expecting it, since apologizing for everything all the time definitely wasn’t healthy). Instead, Matt walked to his kitchen and took a plastic water bottle from the fridge. He didn’t even seem to notice the pancakes.

“You know, you should get a water filter. Do your part to save the planet.”

Matt twisted the lid off. “What do you want?”

Very bad mood. Foggy narrowed his eyes, much more awake now. “You okay, buddy? Did something happen?”

Maybe he should’ve started with that.

“I’m tired, Foggy, and I am _really_ looking forward to a shower.”

“Okay, okay. I get the point.” Foggy chewed on the inside of his cheek. This wasn’t how he’d hoped this conversation would go. “Can we rewind and pretend you’re not irritated with me?”

“I’m not irritated,” Matt said immediately.

Foggy let the subsequent silence be his rebuttal.

Scowling, Matt put down the water bottle and crossed his arms. “All right. Yes. I’m irritated.”

“At me?”

“At a lot of things, at the moment.”

“Including me.”

“Don’t ask me to allocate irritation right now.” He finally left the stupid kitchen, but he didn’t sit on the couch next to Foggy or even on the squishy chair, settling instead into one of the chairs at his table. Foggy knew from much personal experience that those chairs were remarkably uncomfortable. At least opting for discomfort meant Matt was probably not injured.

“You’re not injured, are you?” Foggy checked.

He should have started with that.

Matt gave a sharp shake of his head. “Are you here about the Everett case?”

“Yeah, buddy. We, uh…I think we should take it.”

 “We,” he repeated impassively.

“It should be a really strong case, and this little girl…she needs our help, man.”

“I never said I didn’t want to help her.”

“How much do I need to apologize for?” Foggy asked weakly.

“Depends on how much you try to keep me out of things moving forward.”

Getting up, Foggy took the uncomfortable chair across from Matt. A small sacrifice to be closer to his best friend. Then he folded his hands on the table. He’d gotten extra experience at HC&B while Matt had been, you know, indisposed. Between that and the fact that Foggy was _right_ , surely he could beat him in the imminent argument. “We have a heavier caseload than we’re used to. Nothing wrong with dividing and conquering.”

“There is if I’m just as capable of handling this particular case. If not more capable.”

Foggy magnanimously ignored the “more capable” for now. “You’ve read all those emails and I’ve read, like, two. You should stick to the McGregor case.”

“They’re not mutually exclusive,” he snapped. “We both do better when we work together.”

Oh. How many years had it taken him to learn that lesson? Any other day, Foggy would be rejoicing to hear those words. Today (tonight, this morning, whatever) was just not a convenient time for Matt to suddenly experience personal growth. Unfortunately, he’d also effectively cut right through Foggy’s dispassionate, unemotional, purely professional argument.

Foggy gave up. “I’ll be honest with you, man—”

“Good.”

“I don’t think it’d be good for you to work on this case.”

Matt drew in a breath. “Meaning what, exactly?”

“Meaning I feel like abusive dads and negligent moms isn’t the best combo for you right now.”

Matt stood up so quickly Foggy must’ve blinked, because he missed the transition. All of a sudden, Matt was on his feet, practically quivering with tension, with a look on his face Foggy had never seen before. “Don’t ever say that again.”

Foggy tried to surreptitiously push his chair backwards.

“My mom did what she thought was best for me and my dad wasn’t—he was _nothing_ like that.”

“I’m not talking about your dad,” Foggy said quietly.

Matt’s hand clenched and unclenched at his side. “Stick is dead.”

“Doesn’t mean you’ve processed that fact.”

“I grieved,” he said icily. “You were there.”

You’d think Foggy would no longer be shocked by Matt Murdock’s flimsy knowledge of psychology. “You call that grieving? Those three seconds in the middle of the police department?”

Now his jaw was doing the clenching. Matt said nothing.

“Buddy, that wasn’t grieving. That was like three seconds of tears followed by instant repression because you had to go rescue a kidnapped billionaire, after which you ended up under a building, _after which_ —”

“I remember,” Matt said in that dark stop-talking-immediately voice.

But Foggy had a point to make. He stood up. “After which you lost your senses, found out Fisk was back, made a brand-new arch enemy, discovered your _mother_ and, oh yeah, tried to kill yourself!”

A wall went up behind Matt’s eyes. “I shouldn’t have told you about that.”

“You _absolutely_ should have told me that!” he shouted. “That’s exactly the kind of thing friends tell each other, but that’s not my point. No, my friend, the point is that you haven’t processed Stick because you haven’t had _one second_ of calm since he died and I don’t want to throw you into a situation where you’ll have to think about him while taking care of someone else until you figure out exactly what he meant to you.”

“Nothing,” Matt said flatly. “He meant nothing.”

“I can’t hear your heartbeat, but somehow I don’t believe you.”

For a moment, Matt just stood there, breathing hard and shallow. Then his eyes flicked down towards the table. He snatched the paper bracelet, spun around and went into the bedroom. The door slid shut.

Foggy sat back down heavily. That went well. _Stupendous_ job, Nelson. He opened his mouth a few times but couldn’t figure out what he could say that wouldn’t further his chances of winning Worst Friend of the Century. Instead, he just sat there, trying to pretend he didn’t notice his growing headache. It was after three in the morning, he was exhausted, and his best friend was furious. Honestly, he just wanted to curl up and sleep here…Matt’s blanket was absurdly soft.

But he’d clearly lost the right to a sleepover.

 

 

Matt

Matt was too angry to sleep until about an hour after Foggy left, slipping out of the apartment without any fanfare. He shoved the bracelet into a drawer on his bedside table and paced his bedroom before expanding his pacing to the rest of the apartment. Up the stairs and down, into the kitchen and back. Foggy had put away the blanket before he left, but the couch still smelled strongly of him. So did the kitchen. So did the tea and the pancakes.

Matt backed into the divider wall by the hallway and knocked the back of his head against the paneling. Why did he have to be such an idiot? Tea. Pancakes. Even keeping the Everett case to himself because he was worried. Foggy was just trying to be a good friend.

And Matt was shutting him out. Again.

It was just that Matt was trying _so hard_ to trust Foggy, and yet…what, Foggy figured ambushing him by breaking into his apartment was the best way to smooth things over? Stupid, stupid. That was the kind of stupidity usually reserved for Matt.

_Sweetheart, you don’t break into my house and talk to me about trust._

“Shut up,” Matt said aloud. Foggy and Elektra were completely different.

It was just…bad timing. Matt was already on edge after running into that stranger who claimed to know Stick, who knew it was Matt’s fault Stick was dead.

Honestly, he was this close to putting on the mask and going back out, even though he didn’t hear anyone calling for help, just to work off the energy. Instead, he chose the more responsible route of doing two hundred pushups before showering. The water helped his muscles relax, but didn’t do much for his brain. Muttering a prayer that made him feel worse, he got into bed.

 

He dragged himself to the office—late—running on about three and a half hours of sleep. Foggy wasn’t there, but Karen had just hung up the phone when he walked in.

He opened his mouth to say something clever and flirty, but what he got instead was the feeling of her arms around him.

“You look terrible,” she said in his ear.

He huffed a laugh and closed his eyes. “I kinda feel it.”

“That must’ve hurt to say out loud.” She pulled back and he felt her eyes running over his face. “How much sleep did you get?”

“Four hours, maybe five.”

“Mmm.” Her finger traced lightly the side of his face. “Foggy told me you guys fought.”

He moved away. “Did he say about what?”

“The Everett case, mostly. I _knew_ this would happen. Matt, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“Not your fault.”

“I set it up so you’d miss the meeting.” She reached out and took his hand and tugged him back into her space. “I let him bribe me with Chinese food. Matt, I swear, you’re worth more to me than Chinese food.”

He laughed again and it came more easily this time. “I’m torn between saying I believe you or leaving you to come up with ways to convince me.”

“Don’t tempt me.” She rose up on her tiptoes to kiss his forehead. “I do have some good news, so maybe that’ll help make it up to you.”

He grinned. “Not exactly what I had in mind, but okay.”

“Foggy set up a meeting with Cody Moore, Ella’s teacher last year, and he made me root through your atrocious calendaring system to make sure you were free. Which you are, at two-thirty today. So, if you wanna go…”

He returned the kiss, dropping it onto the top of her head. She used unscented shampoo and it was amazing. “Thanks.” He was so tired and her arms were around him again. He kind of wanted to just melt into her touch. Instead, he straightened up. “Are we still on for Friday?”

“What’s Friday?” she asked innocently. “Something’s happening?”

“I deserve that,” he admitted.

She took his hand and squeezed it briefly. “It’s a date.”

 

Foggy was waiting for him outside the school. Normally, they’d meet more thoroughly before this kind of interview, but things with this case were clearly not normal.

“I see you talked with Karen,” Foggy said by way of greeting.

“Thanks for the pancakes,” Matt said by way of answering.

There was a beat wherein Matt assumed Foggy was appraising him. Then Foggy slightly extended his arm. Not an apology, but they had a witness to interview, so that was probably for the best. Matt let Foggy guide him into the school.

“So,” Foggy said. “I’m thinking if we get enough facts from Cody Moore, our next stop is talking with Beth Conway. If she gives us enough, we should be set to actually file a claim and get this thing going for real.”

This kind of preliminary research was always a gamble; it was an investment in a case that could still be torn apart by opposing counsel in the pleading stage, long before they had the authority of the court to engage in discovery or discuss a settlement. But the more facts they collected to support their allegation, the less likely the judge would be to grant the defendant’s motion to dismiss.

“Sounds good,” Matt agreed. “Judge Main likes me.”

All the more reason Foggy should’ve included Matt from the beginning: in addition to presiding over the McGregor case, Judge Main oversaw most family law cases and this case was almost guaranteed to end up in his courtroom.

“If you mean that Judge Main has an embarrassingly large man-crush on you and it compromises his integrity as a judge, then yes. Watch out—stairs.”

Matt felt Foggy twitch under his grip at the accidental warning that Matt didn’t need. “Thanks,” he said calmly. “What’s our strategy with Mr. Moore?”

“You start off with the general questions, I move into specifics?”

“Sounds good. I’ll jump in if he sounds like he’s holding something back. Follow my lead.”

Foggy didn’t object, just steered him into the classroom where Cody Moore was waiting. He sounded young and he smelled of slightly too much cologne. Fresh out of college.

Matt extended his hand in slightly the wrong direction. “Hi. My name’s Matt Murdock; this is my associate, Franklin Nelson. I think Mr. Burnham gave you a heads-up about what we’d like to talk to you about?”

“Ella Conway.” Moore shook his hand; there was the sound of skin-on-skin as he grasped Fogy’s next. “So, you’re her lawyers?”

“Technically, we represent Everett’s Children’s Home, but we believe Everett’s is acting in Ella’s best interest.”

Moore was nodding. “Good. Believe me, that’s all I want too. Have you heard from Ella herself yet?”

“Not yet,” Foggy said. “We wanted to hear your viewpoint first. She’s young and probably very overwhelmed by all of this. The more we learn from you first, the better we can figure out how to get the relevant information from her as quickly and painlessly as possible.”

Moore breathed a quiet sigh of relief. “Good.”

Matt leaned forward a bit. The kid was obviously very concerned to Ella. “How long was she part of your class?”

“I had her for all of last year.”

“What did you do together?”

“Well, I was with her in class, obviously. But I also volunteered to keep an eye on the kids during recess, and she liked to hang out with me. We’d watch the other kids together and just…talk.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Stories, mostly. She liked making them up. I’d ask questions about the fantasy worlds she was imagining and she’d tell me what people did in those worlds.” His breathing hitched like he wanted to say more, but he fell silent.

“What kinds of things did the imaginary people do?” Matt asked.

Moore scratched behind his ear. “Um, they loved her. The kids would play with her—she told me about all these games they made up—and invited her to birthday parties. The adults would buy her nice things and take her places. She said they never yelled and they never hit her.”

“Hit her,” Foggy echoed softly.

“I asked if real people hit her. She said her dad got mad a lot and she showed me some bruises and cuts. I asked—”

“Cuts?” Matt checked; to his knowledge, that was new information.

“Sometimes she’d bleed, like from fingernails. One time she had a cut across her arm, but she wouldn’t tell me what happened.”

“Did she ever say her dad was the one who hit her?”

“Yeah. I asked.”

“Did you tell the school?”

“I told the higher-ups and they said they’d take care of it.”

Matt could feel Foggy’s gaze on him. Schools had a statutory duty to report child abuse. If this school hadn’t…well, maybe they were looking at a string of lawsuits.

“We’ll look into that too,” Foggy promised. He started moving into more specific questions—where were the bruises, what did they look like, how often did they appear, did he ever interact with either of Ella’s parents—with Matt chiming in whenever he sensed Moore was uncertain about something.

“Guys?” Moore asked as they wrapped up the meeting. “Listen, I don’t know if this would be helpful, but…I’d be willing to testify or…I don’t know, give a statement. Anything that might help Ella.”

Matt raised his eyebrows. Very few people voluntarily subjected themselves to any part of the legal process. “Thank you for that, Mr. Moore. That could be tremendously helpful.”

“We’ll be in touch,” Fogy agreed. They all shook hands.

Outside, Matt released Foggy’s arm. “That went really well. Good catch, asking about whether anyone else ever picked Ella up. The fact that the neighbor kept picking her up goes back to the mother’s negligence.”

“Well, I am frighteningly smart.” Foggy shifted his weight from foot to foot. “It was good working with you, buddy. And, really, I’m sorry about the whole…thing.”

Matt smiled. “Apology accepted.”

“Wanna grab dinner?”

“Uh, yeah.” Then Matt checked his watch. “Oh, actually, no. I’ve gotta…” He had to make more progress on those emails and still leave himself enough time to go out tonight so he could track down the stranger who knew about Stick.

Foggy nodded knowingly. “Just promise me you take a nap before you go out tonight. You look like death.”

“Thanks for that. And for…you know…this.”

Foggy got it; he always did. “No problem, Matt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in a day, I know. But I had the day off and I keep telling myself if I just get this thing posted I can do, y'know, actual work. (plz don't judge me)


	4. So Fragile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: discussion of child abuse.

Foggy

Matt still looked like death the next day, with extra frustration etched into the lines on his forehead and two magnificent new bruises on his face. He locked himself in his office for the morning, presumably going over those abominable emails, only emerging about forty minutes before their meeting with Beth Conway. He knocked on Foggy’s doorframe.

“What’s up?” Foggy asked.

“How do you feel about walking instead of taking a cab?”

Foggy blinked. “Um, I don’t know. How do _you_ feel about saving twenty minutes and supporting local business?”

“How do you feel about me throwing up all over you,” Matt muttered.

“Wait, _what_?”

“It’s not that bad,” he explained hurriedly. “Just a migraine. Not great with, um, public or vehicular transportation.”

Foggy got up. “Did you sleep at all last night?”

“Yeah. I was just trying to track down a…lead. Didn’t work out.” His fingers twitched at his side.

Foggy wanted to test his forehead. He really did. But Matt had an actual mom for that, supposedly, although Foggy had yet to see any physical evidence of this fact. “You sure you should even come today?”

“Yes,” Matt said testily.

Foggy backed off, though he kind of hated himself for doing it. He also hated Matt for putting him in this lose-lose position at all. “Sure, buddy. Why not. I love cardio.”

Matt rolled his eyes. “Walking isn’t cardio.”

“Compared to parkour, no. Compared to sitting at my desk, it most assuredly is.”

So that was how he ended up walking through the chilly November streets of New York, listening to Matt recount, in inconceivable detail, everything he’d gleaned from the McGregor emails. The real inconceivability was the fact that apparently walking for forty minutes while talking about the most boring part of discovery— _with a migraine_ —was actually fun for him.

The man was a rare and precious mythical creature.

“Interjection,” Foggy interjected. “Can we talk about something not mind-numbingly dull for the remainder of this walk?”

“I don’t wanna hear about you and Marci and unless it’s rated G.”

“Not Marci. I actually have a question.” It would make for a nice, non-angsty segue into a more heartfelt apology regarding the breaking-and-entering. (Except he hadn’t broken anything. Still, it was at best trespass due to knowingly and voluntarily lingering where he wasn’t wanted, delicious pancakes notwithstanding.) “What was with that paper thing?”

“What paper thing?”

“I found it in your drawer. You took it in your room after…” After he’d yelled at him. But Foggy didn’t want to bring that up until he was ready for the full apology.

Matt’s fingers tightened on his arm.

Foggy realized, with belated horror, that this was maybe not a non-angsty segue at all. He opened his mouth to tell Matt not to worry about it, but Matt was already answering.

He was _answering_?

“It…I told you how Stick left when I was a kid?” His voice was even. Steady. “He left because I made him that bracelet. Tried to give it to him.”

That didn’t compute. “He left because of a _bracelet_?”

“He left because of what it represented,” Matt corrected in his dispassionate I-am-a-lawyer voice. “Attachment.”

“Wow, he took that whole Jedi thing really seriously. So you’ve, what, you’ve had it with you all this time?” That was…really sad.

“No, he took it with him when he left. Apparently. Because he brought it back two years ago.”

“He was here two years ago?” How much of Matt’s life did Foggy still not know about?

“It was before you found out about…my abilities,” Matt said warily, because of course he could sense Foggy’s growing tension. “I couldn’t tell you.”

“You could’ve told me someone creepy and horrible from your childhood had shown up,” Foggy countered.

“Because you would’ve been willing to leave it at that?”

Uh…no. Point to Matt. “So he just brought back the bracelet to be spiteful?”

“I don’t think it was to be spiteful. I think it was a message that, uh, that maybe he actually cared about me.” Matt shrugged with forced indifference. “A little.”

“The guy that beat you up when you were ten years old?” Foggy clarified skeptically.

“He didn’t beat me up. It was training.”

Yeah, no, Foggy was definitely leaning more towards spite. But he didn’t want to argue about it. He _wanted_ to apologize, but Matt suddenly stopped walking.

“Ella’s here,” he breathed.

Foggy craned his neck, but he didn’t see anything other than a typical, slightly impoverished neighborhood. “What?”

“There’s someone else, too, someone who smells as much like Everett’s Home as Ella. One of the caretakers, I think? This must be one of Mrs. Conway’s visitations.”

“If she tries to use that to back out of meeting with us—”

Matt shrugged. “We won’t let that happen.”

Foggy wished he had his confidence. He studied the addresses. “Okay, this is it.” It was a run-down house, painted a color that was probably close to yellow at some point, now faded by the sun. Matt wrinkled his nose at some smell or something. “Last chance to go take care of that migraine somewhere dark and quiet,” Foggy offered.

“It’s always dark.”

“Right,” Foggy said stupidly. “It’s just, being in the dark helps me whenever I…right. Never mind.”

“Let’s just do this.” Matt rang the doorbell.

Two women answered, one tall and willowy with pale blonde hair, the other curvier with dark skin.

The blonde one stepped out to meet them on the porch. “Hi there. My name is Alice, and I’m just here taking care of Ella. I guess you want to talk to Beth?”

“Franklin Nelson,” Foggy introduced himself, “and this is my partner, Matthew Murdock. And, yes, we’d love to chat with Mrs. Conway for a bit.”

Mrs. Conway hesitated in the doorway. “Um, sure.”

But at that moment, small footsteps sounded down the hall. A little girl poked her head out from around Mrs. Conway’s legs, took in the scene before her, and then stepped out onto the porch.

She was one of the cutest things Foggy had ever seen in his life, and he’d seen Matt skip—actually _skip_ —when he got his first set of grades back in law school. Her hair was like a dark, curly bush that made her head look too big for her small body and her eyes were equally disproportionate.

“Hey,” Foggy said, squatting and extending his hand. “My name’s Franklin Nelson. What’s your name?”

For several seconds, she regarded him with round eyes. When she finally shook his hand and gave her name, he felt like he’d passed some sort of test.

“Very nice to meet you, Ella.” He lowered his voice. “So all the grown-ups know me as Franklin, but _you_ can call me Foggy if you want.”

Her eyes brightened like he’d given her a puppy. “I can?” she whispered.

“You can.”

“Thank you, Foggy!”

This little girl. His heart was melting in his chest, dripping down into his stomach—okay, this analogy was getting out of hand. He straightened and gestured at Matt. “Ella, this is my friend. His name’s Matthew.”

“Hi,” Matt said, and it was his turn to crouch down.

“Does Foggy let you call him Foggy too?”

“He does,” Matt said solemnly. “And you can call me Matt. I know it’s not as cool as Foggy, but—”

“I think it’s cool!” she shouted, like she didn’t want him to live another second thinking his nickname wasn’t as good as Foggy’s.

He winced briefly, and Foggy could only imagine how painful that must’ve been with his supersenses and a migraine. “Um. Great.”

“Ella,” Alice said. “Inside voices, please.”

“But we’re outside,” she pointed out.

Superb logic, and Alice’s expression told Foggy this was a regular occurrence. Ella should be a lawyer. Maybe she could intern with them in…wow, like fifteen years.

She was so _young_.

“What’s that?” She pointed at Matt’s cane.

Alice was instantly awkward. “Oh, Ella—”

“I use it to help get around,” Matt answered without missing a beat, still crouched down, all his attention clearly focused on her.

“Are your legs broken?”

“No,” Matt said smoothly, while Foggy’s heart ached a little at the fact that _broken legs_ were the first explanation she thought of. “But my eyes kind of are. I’m blind.”

Her eyes got even rounder. “ _Really_? Can I see?”

His mouth twitched. “Not quite sure what you mean by that, but okay.” He slid his glasses off.

Ella took a tiny step closer and put one of her hands on Matt’s cheek, tilting his head so she could see his eyes better. “They don’t _look_ broken.”

“Thanks,” he laughed. “Foggy’s been telling me for years that they’re a weird color or something.”

“They’re kind of brown,” she said thoughtfully. “I think it’s nice.”

“Thank you.” Foggy could’ve sworn Matt pressed his face more firmly against her hand, like a freaking _nuzzle_ or something, before he replaced his glasses and stood up. “Ella, we need to talk to your mom for a bit, okay? But if you’re still around afterwards, we’d love to hang out with you too.”

“Is Mommy in trouble?”

Ouch. “We just wanna talk with her,” Foggy said. “Can you think of any stories we should ask her about?”

“Ask her about the goldfish!” Ella ordered, and she was back to shouting again. But this time, Matt didn’t react at all. Like he’d acclimated or something. Weird ninja.

“Ella,” Alice said.

She clapped her hands over her mouth. “Sorry.”

“Goldfish,” Foggy repeated seriously. “Gotcha.”

“This way,” Alice said. “Ella, let me show Mr. Nelson and Mr. Murdock to your mom, and I’ll meet you upstairs.”

“Bye!” Ella dashed off.

Foggy stepped over the threshold. “She’s something else.”

“She certainly is,” Alice agreed with a tone that suggested she had plenty more to say on the subject. She led them into a dining room where Mrs. Conway was waiting.

“Nice to formally meet you, Mrs. Conway,” Foggy said. “Do you mind if we call you Beth?”

“Elizabeth, actually. Ella’s named after me.”

Because of course she was. Foggy glanced at Matt, who had his faux-relaxed posture going, the one he used right before destroying people in cross-examination. He wished he knew Morse code so he could tap “go easy on her” onto his bicep or something.

They settled down at the dining room table, accepting Elizabeth’s offer of water, and asked some preliminary questions, mostly trying to break the ice. Matt was doing a good job acting normal; Foggy was pretty sure only he could recognize the anger sizzling beneath his skin.

Until the conversation turned towards the matters at issue. “Are you aware that Kyle has physically struck Ella?” Matt’s voice cut like a whip. Gone were the gentle, probing questions he’d used with Cody Moore.

Her eyes flitted between them. “I don’t have to answer that, do I?”

“You don’t have to answer any of our questions, actually,” Foggy informed her, “since no claim has been filed yet. If you prefer, we’ll just go off what we know, which means we’ll have a claim against you ready by…tomorrow, don’t you think, Matthew?”

“Easily,” he said in a voice that almost gave Foggy chills, so it definitely scared Mrs. Conway.

“On the other hand,” Foggy said, “you can talk to us now, and maybe we’ll only have to file against Kyle instead of both of you. I understand the two of you are separating?”

She nodded shakily.

“It’s your choice, then.”

She swallowed. “Anything I say will only hurt my case. It’ll just help you take Ella away.”

“That’s your decision, then?” Matt’s words were laced with warning.

Foggy could barely hear her answer. “I think so.”

“Thanks.” Matt’s glasses glinted sharply as he offered a dangerous smile. “That’s very helpful.”

If Foggy hadn’t personally met Ella, he’d feel bad for Elizabeth. As it was…he got up from the table. “Thanks for the water and your hospitality.”

“You’re leaving?” She did a bad job disguising the relief in her voice.

“Do you mind if we talk to Ella before we do?” He saw her bite her lip and knew she was about to refuse them the chance, so he continued. “I mean, we’d be just as happy to talk to her when she’s back at Everett’s, but if you’d rather be around to witness the conversation…”

“Here’s good,” she said reluctantly. “I’ll get her.” She all but fled the room.

“Perfect,” Foggy murmured. “She obviously thinks the law won’t find her capable of caring for Ella. After we get this filed, we can depose her and double-check, but I doubt this’ll be a long fight.”

“Good.” Matt’s voice was still a bit too sharp, like he hadn’t quite snapped out of attack mode. “That’s the last thing Ella needs. Speaking of, here she comes.”

Ella ran into the room, her mother railing behind her. She skidded to a halt in the doorway and seemed to study first Foggy then Matt, like she’d second-guessed her first impression of them while they’d been talking with her mother. “You want to hang out with me?” she asked.

“We’ve heard you tell some really good stories,” Foggy explained.

A blinding smile appeared. “You want to hear about my stories?”

“I want to hear about _all_ your favorite stories.”

“Follow me!” She grabbed both their hands pulled them into a living room so suddenly that Matt probably would’ve tripped if he were a regular blind guy. As it was, he and Matt sat down cross-legged across from Ella, who bounced on her knees on the scratchy living room carpet. Alice and Elizabeth followed them like shadows, sitting down in two chairs on either side of the room.

Ella started talking about her imaginary worlds and Foggy had to give her credit: she was creative. He followed the example of Cody Moore and asked about the people there, what they did and didn’t do, and slowly he received a picture of how she saw the world.

She also probably didn’t intend this, but she talked so long about nothing important that eventually, Elizabeth gave up and left to go take care of something.

“And the people there always sing all the time and they never give each other sad colors,” Ella was telling them.

“Sad colors?” Foggy asked.

“Like my sad colors.” She pointed at her arms; Foggy squinted until he could make out fading bruises, hard to see against her dark skin. Then she pointed at Matt. “You have sad colors, too, Matt.”

“I do?”

“On your face.”

Foggy’s stomach flipped.

Matt clearly had no idea what she was talking about. “I don’t know what you mean. See, I can’t really use a mirror. Can you show me?”

“Yeah,” she said, childlike, followed by an adult-sounding: “Tell me if it hurts.”

An echo of all the nurses. Foggy wanted to punch something.

“I will,” Matt said softly.

She stood in front of him and her fingers began to move, very, _very_ carefully, over his face, touching the mottled skin on his jaw. Then she ran her fingers under his glasses to the bruise under and around his eye.

Matt let out a slow exhale. “I think I get it. Those aren’t happy colors, are they?”

“Do they hurt you, too?”

“Sometimes, yeah. The people who give me those colors aren’t very good people.”

“Oh.” She seemed to think about that for a moment. She withdrew her hand from his face and twisted at an unruly strand of her own hair. Then: “Is my dad not good?”

Foggy bit down hard on his tongue.

“Does your dad give you the sad colors, Ella?” Matt asked.

Her forehead creased. “Yeah. But he says it’s just ’cause I de-desert...”

“Deserve it?”

She nodded. “Is my dad not good?”

“Ella,” Matt said. “I want you to listen to me very carefully. All right? Are you listening?”

“I’m listening, Matt.”

“No one who gives you sad colors is good. If someone gives you sad colors, you need to get away and find someone who can help you. Someone like Alice. Do you understand?”

“But my dad…” She trailed off confusedly.

“I know,” Matt whispered. “I know it doesn’t make a lot of sense. I know it’s really, really confusing and it’s really, really hard. But if someone hurts you, you don’t have to stay with them. Do you know why?”

Her lower lip trembled, but she breathed in quickly until it steadied. “Why?”

“Because _you’re_ good.”

“No, I d-don’t think…”

Matt shook his head fiercely. “You’re a very good, very kind, and very important person and the most important thing is that you’re safe and happy. Do you believe me?”

“I th-think…” She sucked in a breath that turned into a sob and before Foggy knew what was happening, she’d buried her face in Matt’s neck. He didn’t hesitate before holding her in his arms and lowering his head beside hers, saying something Foggy couldn’t make out in her ear.

Over their embrace, Foggy met Alice’s gaze across the room.

Alice mouthed the words: “Help her.”

Foggy mouthed back: “We will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. What have I done. Also, this story is like 8 chapters now.


	5. Am I Something You can be Proud Of?

Foggy

Ella pulled back and scrubbed at her eyes with her fists. Matt gently reached out and wiped her tears with infinitely more care. “Can you see my colors?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“I can show you.” Her hand took his and she maneuvered it over her arms, over the faint markings Foggy had already seen.

Matt’s expression hardened.

Ella didn’t notice; she was looking down at herself, at his larger, pale hand over her arm. Then she kept moving his hand, to more and more places, places where Foggy couldn’t see the bruises but apparently places where Matt could feel…something.

He was turning an unattractive mix of gray and green. Foggy wanted to ask if he was okay, but knew he’d never get away with it and Matt would kill him for asking in front of Ella.

Besides, no one else seemed to notice.

Then Ella looked up. “Are you okay, Matt?”

He gave the fakest smile Foggy had ever seen. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” she said stubbornly.

What a little genius.

He sighed, defeated. “All right. The thing is, Ella, it makes me really sad that someone would do this to you. All the colors and cuts and the broken arm…”

The what now?

“It’s not right and that makes me upset.” He moved his face closer to hers so Foggy could see her reflection in his glasses. “But that’s _my_ job to be upset about it. You don’t have to worry about me and you don’t have to worry about anything else. Just be happy and…and stay safe,” he added because he clearly couldn’t help himself. “Stay with people who are safe.”

“Like Miss Alice?”

“Exactly like Miss Alice.” Although by this point, Foggy would bet Daredevil would be swinging by just to make absolutely sure that Miss Alice was the closest thing to an angel that earth had to offer. Matt removed his hands and stood up, skin still tinted slightly green. “Foggy?”

Well, Matt wasn’t likely to make a clearer request for help. Foggy stood up too. “Ella, we’ve gotta go now, okay?”

Panic flashed across her face. “Will I see you again?”

Alice was already nodding.

“Definitely,” Foggy said. “Really soon. Alice, thanks for letting us meet her.”

“Thank _you_.” Alice packed a lot of extra emotion into those two words.

“Fog.” Matt’s voice was a bit more urgent.

“Until next time!” Foggy held out his arm for Matt to grab and led him through the house. Thankfully, they didn’t run into Mrs. Conway or anyone else on the way outside and Matt made it two whole houses down before coming to a sudden halt, face pallid. “Buddy?” Foggy asked.

He was holding his breath. “I’m fine.”

“If you need to throw up or—”

“I said I’m fine.”

Foggy searched for something to say and came up empty. He ran his hands through his hair and loosened his tie. “Well, she’s incredible.”

Matt was too busy concentrating on breathing through his nose to answer.

“And we’re gonna help her. It won’t even be that hard. She really opened up to you, man. If we get half of what she showed you on record—”

“Not just me,” he managed. “She was in love with you as soon as you let her call you by your nickname.”

“What can I say? I’m a natural child magnet.” Foggy paused. “Let me reword that so it sounds less creepy.” He paused again, longer this time. “So…are we gonna start walking again at some point, or should I call Marci who actually owns a car?”

“Walking.” Matt wiped some sweat off his forehead. “Walking is good.” He tapped his cane against the sidewalk as if orienting himself.

“So,” Foggy said eventually. “Recap?”

“Her left arm has been broken in two different places,” Matt reported, clearly glad to have something productive to focus on. “Could’ve happened late spring or early summer.”

“While she was still in school?”

“Possibly. Could’ve happened right after she got out.”

“We’ll want to check into that. If it happened at school, Cody Moore should’ve told us.” That was potentially not great; he should’ve remembered a broken bone. Either forgetting or leaving it out could compromise him as a witness. Then again, maybe the break had happened in the summer and Foggy was worrying about nothing.

But that was what good lawyers did. They obsessed over details and they worried about everything.

Matt tilted his head like he wanted to say something.

“Yeah?” Foggy asked.

“She…she was sweet.”

Foggy raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, _duh_.”

He licked his lips. “But there was no lie in her heartbeat.”

“What? When?”

“When she said she didn’t think she was good. She really believes all the things her dad…” He broke off.

Foggy wanted to hug him. He settled for stopping, and pulling Matt to a stop along with him. “Don’t you see how crazy that is?”

“Of course I—”

“You know who she sounds like, though, right?”

Matt jerked out of his grasp. “This isn’t about me.”

“You sure, buddy? Because I’m not the one who looks like he’s about to throw up, and I’m eighty-nine percent sure it’s not just from the migraine.”

“Foggy, I swear, if you try to kick me off this case because of what Stick did twenty years ago—”

“I’m not saying that,” Foggy protested. “I’m just saying—”

“Yeah, well, you can say it later.” Matt started walking away, cane _tip-tapping_ faster than normal.

Foggy jogged to keep up. “You’re right; forget it. That was awful timing.”

“Yeah, it was.” They were coming up against a taller building and it was getting dark; that was probably why Matt suddenly yanked his glasses off, folded his cane up, and jumped up onto a dumpster.

“Matt, don’t,” Foggy said helplessly.

Too late; Matt was gone.

Good job, Nelson. Strike two.

 

He slunk into the office, hoping to avoid Karen, but the stars were aligned against him. She was making coffee and popped her head out as soon as he opened the front door. “How’d it go with…” Her eyes narrowed. “Where’s Matt?”

“Isn’t it a little late for caffeine? Is everything okay?”

“Where’s Matt?” she repeated with a dangerous edge to her voice.

“I, um, sort of spooked him.”

“Are you kidding me?” Glaring balefully, she turned her back and started pouring coffee. “What happened?”

“This little girl, Karen, she’s…” He searched for the words. “She and Matt are like…” He folded his arms across his chest. “I _knew_ this would happen. I’m the biggest idiot to ever idiot.”

“What happened, Foggy?” Karen shook a packet of sugar into the coffee. Like that would help the flavor at all.

“We were walking back and he starts talking about how Ella believes all the lies her dad said, and I pointed out that maybe, y’know, Matt might have some personal experience with—”

“You said that right then? What, while walking down the street?”

“I didn’t know he was gonna parkour up a building,” Foggy defended himself.

Karen rolled those unfairly big blue eyes. “Yeah, and how long have you known him?”

“This version of him? About a year and a half.”

She pressed her lips together. “I don’t think it’s that different.”

“Agree to disagree.”

“Foggy.” She poured to cups and offered him one; he wasn’t sure if it was a gift or punishment for his miscalculation. “You’ve gotta give him time to process stuff before you try to force him to process stuff.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” he complained.

“You’re smart; figure it out.” She blew on her coffee. “And make it right.”

“Hang on, wait a minute. You’re his girlfriend,” Foggy said hopefully.

“Don’t even think about—”

“Help me?”

Her eyes flashed. “Absolutely not. Matt and I are building our own system and you and Matt need to figure out a different one.” Then her expression softened. “You’ve known him for _years_ , Foggy. He’s still the same guy. But the more that you act like everything’s changed just because of the things you’ve learned about him, the more _he’ll_ feel like everything’s changed, and the less he’ll open up to you.” She lowered her gaze. “Trust me on that.”

She’d told him about Wesley. Later, she’d told him about Kevin. “Karen, what happened to you, what you went through, it doesn’t change anything.”

“I know that. But you know what helps me remember? The fact that you don’t treat me like I’m about to fall apart every time we take a case involving someone’s brother.”

Foggy swallowed. _Most people dance around me like I’m made of glass. I hate that._ How was it that realizing Matt was a superhero made him _more_ overprotective than when he’d thought Matt was just a regular blind guy?

Oh no. He, Foggy Nelson, was the personification of the overly-worried superhero’s girlfriend cliché. “I messed up.”

“Clearly.” She sipped the coffee. “So go fix it.”

“Okay. Yeah, I’ll do that.” He put his cup down. “Thanks, Karen. But not for the coffee. That coffee is the third worst thing to happen to me today and today hasn’t been a day full of great things.”

“Foggy—”

He didn’t hear the rest of it; he was already outside. Operation Follow Karen’s Advice was about to commence.

 

Matt

Up on the rooftops, the relatively fresh air did wonders for his state, physical and otherwise. His stomach settled back down and his hands were still shaking, but less so. It hadn’t been that severe to begin with; it didn’t seem like Foggy even noticed. Ella maybe had, but she…he felt the ghost sensations of her fingers on his face, caressing his jaw and black eye with so much concern that he didn’t deserve.

“Oh, God, help her,” Matt breathed, because this was too big, too big for him to fix even if he attacked the problem with everything he had. Including Daredevil.

It was still a litter earlier than he’d normally go out, but he changed into the black gear as soon as he arrived at his apartment. He should probably eat something, but he only managed one bite of Foggy’s leftover pancakes before his stomach clenched and it was all he could do to keep from vomiting.

Okay. Okay. Food later.

He itched to pay Mr. Conway a visit, but it wasn’t worth it. Brett Mahoney already knew of a connection between Daredevil and Nelson and Murdock; it was a safe guess that half the cops on the force were similarly aware. He couldn’t risk doing anything that might jeopardize this case. Ella’s safety was more important than his anger.

Didn’t mean he had to sit at home, though. Matt leapt from rooftop to rooftop, thrilling at the chance to be so high above the messiness of life, until he landed on the roof of Everett’s Children’s Home. It was almost painfully loud, with children running around below, yelling and resisting bedtimes, but he picked up Ella’s beautiful voice and her heartbeat, so small and so strong, and used those to center himself.

She was fine. She was here, safe, and healthy. From what he could hear, there were good people watching over her. If she could just stay here, she’d be okay.

“God, let her stay here.” Matt would do his best, but there were loopholes and corruption and he knew all too well how easily a single kid could fall through the cracks, end up somewhere they shouldn’t with someone who would only hurt them, and…suddenly, Matt tensed. He wasn’t alone anymore.

A new heartbeat, deliberately slow, and the scent of blood on metal. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He’d utterly failed at tracking down Stick’s associate the previous night. It made sense, though. Stick just hadn’t stuck around Matt long enough to give Matt the training he needed.

“Daredevil,” a voice said behind him. “I meant to ask before, what happened to the fancy suit?”

Matt stood up. Anyone who'd spent more time with Stick would be able to outsmart him, outmaneuver him. Outfight him, probably. He subtly drew his wooden batons. “Good to see you, too. Do I get a name to work with?”

The man’s jacket rustled as he shrugged. “Stone.”

“Come up with that all by yourself, did you?”

“If you’re so brilliant, how is it you failed to notice thirty-three members of the Hand slinking around in your city?”

“How many are still left?”

“None.”

Matt pressed his lips together. “Thanks for that.”

“Wasn’t for you or for anyone else in this city. It was for Stick.”

Didn’t matter. “Then why bother tracking me down?”

Stone took a long step closer. “Just had to see it for myself. What are you doing, stalking that little girl? Thinking of taking on your own student?”

His chest tightened at the thought of anyone treating Ella anything like how he’d been treated. “No.”

“Oh, I _see_. She means something to you, doesn’t she?” He gave a low whistle. “Stick was right. You know, I was convinced he must be underestimating you. You couldn’t really be _that_ pathetic. And yet…here we are.”

“What did Stick say about me?”

“ _You_ don’t get to say his name,” he snarled.

“What did he say?” Matt snarled back.

“That the only thing you were good for was getting knocked down. Then he’d usually throw in something about your daddy—”

Matt let out a yell and lunged forward.

Stone laughed and stepped aside, effortlessly parrying Matt’s first strike. No problem; it was more for show. Matt launched a side kick that should’ve caught him off guard, but Stone blocked it with his knee and his fist shot towards Matt’s face.

Matt parried an instant too late. The blow only struck his shoulder, but it shouldn’t have made contact at all.

“Slow,” Stone hissed, and a thrust kick shoved Matt two steps back.

He hit the ground and rolled backwards, springing back to his feet just in time to sidestep a knife flying through the air.

_Tomorrow, we start with knives._

He’d never learned.

Matt hurled a baton before figuring it was probably more useful in his hands, especially because Stone easily dodged it. Stone drew another weapon, longer. A sword.

How advanced were swords in Stick’s curriculum?

Something else sharp—a throwing star or something—whistled past his ear. Matt rolled forward and stayed low to the ground, swiping his leg out, trying to knock Stone off balance. Stone’s sword cut downwards and Matt wasn’t quite fast enough. The blade sliced across his forearms as he shielded his face. Matt darted back a safer distance.

Stone paused, tilting the sword so the blood dropped from it. He sniffed delicately and made a satisfied sound.

Matt took a moment to calm his thundering heart. He just needed to get in close, close enough that the sword’s longer range wouldn’t do any good. Take away Stone’s advantage. And Matt, what advantage did he have that could possibly tip the balance in his favor?

Well, he knew how to take a hit.

Good enough.

Matt hurled his remaining baton as a smokescreen and, as Stone flicked his sword downwards to cut it from the air, Matt was already there. The blade slashed up at his thigh, but this time Stone was too slow, too slow to avoid Matt’s knee sinking into his gut and his fist snapping the cartilage in his nose. Their blood mixed together on the roof.

Stone swore as Matt landed more strikes, aiming for the temples and the eyes and the throat, and with his free hand Matt grabbed the handle of the sword, twisting until the blade caught on Stone’s flesh. Stone’s fist ground into the side of his face—lots of sad new colors. Then Stone jumped into the air, spiraled, and suddenly he was behind Matt, and Matt’s arm was twisted backwards so sharply he thought it would break.

Matt froze, terrified.

“Don’t remember how to get out of this one, do you?”

It was a new hold. Stick had never taught him and Matt had never come across it on his own. Matt shifted slightly, to test the integrity of the hold, and fire bloomed in his shoulder. He sank his teeth into his tongue and didn’t make a sound.

“I don’t want to fight you,” Stone informed him.

The feeling was not mutual.

Stone twisted Matt’s arm at a new angle until Matt dropped reflexively to his knees. “You’re just not worth it.” Now Stone walked in a slow circle, forcing Matt to turn just to keep his arm from breaking. The sword scraped as he picked it up and spun it once through the air, then stabbed it into Matt’s side. It slid between two of his ribs.

He didn’t scream. Stick would be proud of that, at least.

But Matt also crumpled to the ground, which would’ve been such a disappointment.

Stone dug the sword a little deeper. “How long was he with you?”

Matt let out a wet gasp.

“How long, huh?” Stone pulled the sword back out again and blood flowed freely. “A couple months? The way Stick tells it, you didn’t even last a year. I got _ten_ , Devil. Ten.” He shook the sword; droplets of Matt’s blood landed on his face as Stone made his way to the edge of the roof.

Slowly, Matt pressed his fist into the ground and pushed himself upwards.

Stone stopped and turned his head back. “Look, there you go. Getting back up. Stick said you were good at that, at least. Keep your eyes open next time. Good luck staying alive.”

He was leaving. “Wait,” Matt rasped. “Tell me what Stick…” His words died along with his train of thought. Stone was gone anyway.

Didn’t matter. Grunting, Matt heaved himself to his feet, pressed his hand to his side, and swayed. How far was he from home? Not far, not too far. He could make it. Pretty sure. His hand hovered over the pocket with his burner phone. He could call Claire. Sister Maggie. Foggy. Karen. Look at that, he had a whole list of people.

Take that, Stick.

But he didn’t think he was capable of hearing any of their voices and not breaking down in tears. He could not afford tears right now.

Get home. Just get home alive.

His head spun from pain and blood loss and a different kind of pain that wasn’t exactly physical.

Yeah. He needed to go home. That was definitely what he needed.

But the pain that wasn’t exactly physical was just as insistent and it was simply begging that he not be alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. I promise I have a life. But your comments are so encouraging and I'm gonna ride this wave of inspiration until it drops me.


	6. We're All the Same

Foggy

Matt had yet to take back Foggy’s spare key and Foggy really didn’t want to push him into doing that, but he also needed to do…something. Because Karen was right and because he couldn’t handle this anger that kept coursing between them and he hated the fact that for once it might be more his fault than Matt’s.

Despite the earlier migraine, Matt was out Daredeviling again, because the man had no sense of self-preservation. Foggy didn’t expect him to be home until at least three in the morning, which pursuant to Karen’s advice was definitely not a great time to have a heart-to-heart, but Foggy needed to be there. If he tried to show up in the morning, Matt probably wouldn’t be home. He’d be at the gym or at the church with the nuns or…or he’d hear Foggy coming and just parkour away to hide on some roof somewhere.

No. Their friendship wasn’t that broken. Was it?

Anyway. Foggy let himself into Matt’s apartment and retrieved the extra blanket from the closet, spreading it over the couch because they were gonna have a sleepover and _not_ talk about their feelings, because Foggy Nelson had learned his lesson: emotional ambushes were uncool. They could just talk about pointless stuff over copious amounts of pancakes and hot chocolate.

They could go back to normal.

Once he finished making up the couch, he ordered in from Matt’s favorite Thai place so there’d be dinner waiting. It was still kind of early, but selfishly, Foggy was hungry too. And Matt’s kitchen was back to its usual barren state; poking around the cabinets hadn’t revealed anything substantial. Foggy did, however, notice the dishes in the sink, so he set to work. What? It was more productive than playing phone games. Matt would maybe have to reclean some of it later, because his standards for cleanliness were understandably higher, but at least he wouldn’t have to work past gross, soggy food bits.

Foggy was about halfway through when the door to the roof opened. His intuition reacted first, sending his heart plummeting into his gut and he couldn’t really figure out why his brain was screaming _something is wrong_ until he realized it was only eleven-thirty at night.

His brain was right.

Matt stumbled coming down the steps, the black shirt clinging wetly to his body. Why was his shirt wet, it wasn’t even raining. Foggy ran into the living room in time to see him leaning heavily against the railing, one arm wrapped around his side, about a third of the way down. He’d left the door hanging open until a gust of wind blew it closed and Matt flinched at the resultant _bang_.

“Matt…?”

“Hey, F’ggy,” he mumbled. Drops of blood were slicked across his face.

“Geeze, what happened?” Foggy took the stairs two at a time and tried to take some of Matt’s weight, but Matt held himself stiffly. From pain. Not from Foggy’s proximity. Right?

“Claire…”

“Just lemme get you to the couch, okay? Good plan?”

A horrible plan. Matt pushed himself away from the railing and immediately face-planted, pulling Foggy down with him. They ended up in a pile at the foot of the stairs.

“Ow, ow, ow.” Every part of Foggy’s body took up a chorus of throbbing, but as for Matt…his friend’s breath ghosted across his skin as he tore the mask back to find Matt’s eyes closed.

Foggy swore loudly and creatively enough that it really should’ve woken him up. “Not _again_ , Matt, c’mon!” Extricating himself from the tangle of limbs, he wiped his hands on his pants and…wait, that was blood. That was blood all over his pants and all over the rest of him because he’d fallen against Matt and _Matt was bleeding everywhere_. In lieu of throwing up, which Foggy very much wanted to do, he started shifting Matt’s weight. Deadweight. No, don’t think of that. He just needed to get Matt to the couch and call Claire. So he planted his feet and maneuvered his vigilante best friend into a semi-upright position.

It was a long and tortuous trek to the couch and Foggy would need significant amounts of alcohol to forget the pained sounds Matt had made. Especially because this was, believe it or not, far from the first time he’d seen Matt terribly injured, but tonight was making him think of that actual first time, _The Night_ that changed everything. _The Night_ was the only other instance in which Foggy had tried to help Matt while he was unconscious, and the ratio between noises-Matt-let-himself-make-while-conscious and noises-Matt-made-involuntarily-while-unconscious made Foggy want to strangle whoever had convinced him that expressing pain was a sign of weakness.

Stick. He wanted to strangle Stick.

But no time for strangling now and Elektra had kind of beaten him to that punch anyway. Once at the couch, Foggy kept one hand pressed to Matt’s neck, making sure he didn’t miss a single weak pulse of his heart, and called Claire with the other.

Straight to voicemail.

Foggy swore—not at Claire, she was nice; just at the universe at large—and tried again.

Voicemail.

Voicemail, voicemail.

Deep breaths, Nelson.

Matt’s throat moved under his hand as he tried to swallow. “F’ggy?”

He dropped the phone. “You’re back! Hey, listen, you have five seconds to tell me what I need you to do to keep you from passing out again.”

His voice was so thin. “Call Claire.”

“Not picking up. I’m all you’ve got.”

“Mom?” he asked, and for one sickening second, Foggy thought he was hallucinating something.

Then he figured it out. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll call her. Where’s your phone? Never mind—got it.” He hated using Matt’s phone with the voice commands, but it was easier than the burner’s ancient technology. “What’s her contact name?”

“Mom,” he slurred.

Everything was still way too scary for Foggy to feel weird about instructing another person’s phone to “Call Mom.” But praise the God Matt worshipped—she picked up.

“Matthew?”

“Hi, Mrs. Murdock—” He choked; he had no idea if that was actually her name. “I’m Matt’s friend, and he’s bleeding out on his couch but he wanted me to call you so I assume you can maybe do something about that?”

Right? That was why Matt wanted him to call, right? Not so he could say good-bye to his mother before he….

“Don’t move him. I’m on my way.”

_Click._

Don’t move him. Whoops. Foggy dropped the phone. “She’s coming, okay? She’s coming. Just hang on.”

“Heard,” he said thinly. “ _Ow_.”

Ow? Really? “Where’s the worst of the bleeding? Shouldn’t I, I don’t know, put pressure on it or something?”

Matt made a vague gesture that pretty much encompassed his entire torso.

Actually, that probably wasn’t inaccurate.

Don’t throw up. Don’t pass out. Foggy stood up. “Okay. I’m gonna get some…towels. Towels, yeah.” But he’d only taken two steps towards the bathroom when there was another knock at the door.

Maggie was fast. Godspeed to nuns?

He opened the door to a Thai delivery girl. “Order for Mr. Nelson,” she said brightly. Then her eyes dropped down to his pants. “Are you okay? Do you need a doctor?”

“…What?”

She shrugged and held up a sack. “Two pad thais, one tom yum goong, and one tom kha kai?”

That wasn’t English, was it? Foggy blinked repeatedly. None of this made any sense. Oh, because he was going into shock. Probably. That didn’t seem fair— _Matt_ was the one bleeding out, why was _Foggy_ —

“Sir?”

“How much do I owe you?” Foggy’s mouth asked. Because he evidently had muscle memory for this kind of thing. He stumbled back into the room for his wallet—don’t look at Matt—and returned, giving her what must’ve been the right amount because she dropped the sack in his arms and disappeared down the hallway.

Leaving the food on the floor, he ran to the bathroom and grabbed all the towels he could, then ran back to Matt, whose eyelids were fluttering.

“Can I get your shirt off?”

“…can try.”

Good enough. But as soon as he tried to shift Matt’s upper body, Matt groaned, then snapped his mouth closed.

“New rule,” Foggy announced. “You can make as much noise as you want, and please don’t turn that into a euphemism.”

“Dunno what you’re talking…” The words faded out when Foggy pulled at his shirt and his eyes rolled back.

Foggy swore again. At least Matt was too unconscious to hear it. Scissors, that was the new plan. Moving quickly, determined not to let his brain catch up to what he was doing, Foggy found the scissors in the kitchen—Karen, _why_ did you put them in a cabinet?—and started cutting away Matt’s shirt.

Another knock at the door.

He opened it. “If you’re not a nun—”

It was a nun. A very small nun with huge brown eyes. “You must be Matthew’s friend.”

“He’s inside,” Foggy said dumbly.

“I should hope so.” She brushed past him and by the time Foggy had caught up, she was kneeling at Matt’s side with his first aid kit. Which Foggy had somehow completely forgotten existed, let alone where to find it.

She peeled his shirt away from the wound—and it was _huge_ and _deep_ and still sluggishly bleeding and Foggy saw stars—and sanitized it. “Wash your hands and help me hold this closed.”

Sure. Hold the skin closed. No problem. Foggy washed his hands and he must’ve spent too long because Maggie barked at him to hurry up, but he didn’t want to give Matt an infection on top of…on top of…he blinked hard and returned to the couch, closing his eyes as he pinched the skin together.

Matt’s tattered moan covered the sound of Maggie snipping at the excess stitching.

“I’m really glad you know how to do this,” Foggy said numbly.

“That makes three of us. Hold this next.”

More bloody skin. Wonderful. Foggy wished Matt put more effort into decorating the place just so there’d be something to distract him. It occurred to him that Matt had way more scars than the last time he’d seen him without a shirt, and then it occurred to him that Matt would probably never stop having more scars.

His ears rang. “I think…I think I’m…”

“Don’t you dare.” Maggie snapped her fingers in front of his eyes. “Deep breaths. Work with me, here.”

Right. Matt needed him. So Foggy worked really, really hard to breathe, and he cut away the fabric of Matt’s sleeves and cut away the part of his pants over his left thigh, and he pinched skin closed while Maggie sewed it back together again until, finally, she sat back, bloodstained.

Still crouched beside the couch, Foggy sank onto his knees and dropped his head on the pillow beside Matt’s, just so he could hear him breathing. He jerked backwards when Matt groaned, blearily opening his eyes.

“You awake, buddy?”

He mumbled something too feeble and jumbled to make out.

“Shh.” Maggie pushed his hair back from his face with more tenderness than Foggy had ever seen anyone use with Matt before. And he didn’t shy away from it like he so often did with Foggy; he pressed into her touch. “Shh, Matthew. I’m here.”

A tiny, horrible part of Foggy felt jealous. He’d been by Matt’s side for _years_. But then, he was really just glad Matt had someone he trusted, someone whose love and care he could accept. Finally.

Huh. Somehow, without Foggy even knowing, Matt had found another anchor. And she’d already left once, so maybe she’d gotten it out of the way, that leaving-Matt thing that everyone close to him was apparently required by law to do. Stick, Karen, his ex, even Foggy himself.

He still felt shame for that, but shame over the past wasn’t nearly as important as trying to fix the mess in front of him now.

Matt’s eyes flickered back closed and Maggie pressed a kiss to his forehead before finally standing up. Her dress was black, but he could still see the wet blood streaked across the front of it. She looked down at her hands. More blood. “Well,” she said. “That was something.” Then she walked to his kitchen and started washing.

“Yeah,” Foggy agreed intelligently.

“I’m glad you called me.” Now she was in his bathroom, gathering towels and bleach to clean up everything else. “I’m surprised he didn’t.”

Foggy hadn’t even considered that. “Yeah.” Then he thought about what that meant, thought about what might’ve—would’ve—happened if Foggy hadn’t happened to be at the apartment already, planning a pancake ambush, and he felt the blood drain from his face.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you all right?”

“No,” he croaked.

“Sit down.”

“I don’t—”

“Foggy Nelson, sit down. And for goodness’ sake, _breathe_.”

She knew his name. He was pretty sure he hadn’t told her his name. Matt must’ve told her. Matt talked about him with his mother. He sat down and tried to pull himself together.

A moment later, she was in front of him with a cup of orange juice and thickly-buttered toast. He wasn’t sure where she’d even dug up such domestic ingredients from Matt’s spartan kitchen.

“Eat slowly.”

He obeyed.

“Better?”

His voice wavered. “Not really.”

Maggie sighed and dragged Matt’s other chair closer. “Talk to me.”

“Matt—”

“He’ll be fine, and I realize you don’t know me, but I love him and he loves you and you’re clearly hurting. So. Talk to me.”

Foggy wanted to laugh. Here she was, calmly pronouncing him hurt, like he hadn’t just watched her stitch Matt’s flesh back together. But the laughter turned shaky and, whoa, that was a tear running down his cheek.

Okay, maybe Foggy was hurt too. Differently. “It’s just…” He stopped. “He just…” He couldn’t get the words out.

But Maggie was nodding. “I know.”

Foggy closed his eyes so he didn’t have to see the understanding written across her face. “We have a new case. Did he tell you?”

“Not the one with all the emails?”

Foggy snorted. “Not that one. It’s, uh, a little girl. Whose parents…” He cut himself off. He couldn’t tell Maggie this. Matt would kill him.

“Are you gonna talk to me, or are you gonna talk to someone else?”

A great question. Except no one else was really around.

“Are you worried about client confidentiality?”

“I mean, I don’t have to tell you the specifics…”

“Then I don’t see a problem here.”

Foggy kept his eyes closed. “The dad was physically abusive. The mom let it happen. She knew. And she’s neglecting the little girl…she’s only six…” Ella’s face flashed in his memory. “We met her today.”

“That couldn’t have been easy.”

“She’s the sweetest thing, Maggie. Uh, Sister.”

“Call me Maggie.”

“But I didn’t think Matt should be part of this.”

“Because?”

“Because…you know.” He opened his eyes to see her raising one eyebrow at him. “Because he doesn’t have, um, a great…track record…with parental figures.”

Her eyes widened slightly before she sat back in the chair. “I see.”

“I’m so sorry, don’t tell him I—”

“He has no need to know you and I ever had this conversation. Assuming, of course, that he isn’t faking being asleep right now.”

“He wouldn’t be faking,” Foggy muttered. “He’d be punching me.”

“I certainly hope not.” She folded her hands in her lap.

“Has he told you about Stick?” he asked tentatively.

“Yes.” Then, clearly remembering that Matt was an expert in half-truths and missing details, she elaborated. “I know Stick found him when he was ten, shortly after his father died. Stick taught him to use his senses, which is how he’s able to do what he does and help people, at least as Daredevil. The training was brief but severe and constituted child abuse.”

“D’you know why it was so brief?” His voice was still shaking but now it was from anger. “Stick left ’cause Matt got too _attached_. Matt tried to give him a stupid fake bracelet and Stick took it and left and didn’t come back for twenty years.”

“Oh.” Maggie closed her eyes and her lips moved silently for a moment. Then she fixed Foggy with a piercing stare. “Well, Foggy Nelson, I think I owe you an apology.”

He squinted at her. “Pretty sure it’s the other way around, actually. I shouldn’t have told you all that.”

“I abandoned my son,” she said clearly. “I had no way to know, at the time, of all the other things that would happen to him. But I gave him up knowing I was risking of all sorts of tragedy. And when I found him again after his father died, his suffering was so obvious. I effectively abandoned him again. He still bears those wounds, and the fact that other people have added to them doesn’t change the fact that I did it first.”

Sounded like she should be saying all that to Matt instead of to him.

“But you, Foggy, have tried to be there for him despite everything. All I know is that I…everything I did has only made your friendship that much harder. Thank you for being there for him, even when it…when it’s not easy.” She sniffed. “And I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you,” he told her, because how could he not? She was _here_. And she wasn’t the only person to have ever abandoned Matt. He forced himself to meet her gaze. “It would be hypocritical of me not to.”

“Hmm,” she murmured, looking over Foggy with a new eye. “Well, I guess it’s true.”

“What is?

“God really does use crooked sticks,” she gestured between them, “to make straight lines.”

He almost smiled. “Let’s not…talk about sticks, okay?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of the reason for my updating speed is that I write things out of order and fill in blanks as I go, which means by the time I get to later chapters, they're pretty much already done. So look out for more updates!
> 
> ...Also, this is now 9 chapters because I tried really hard (okay, not that hard) to wrap everything up in one chapter and then all these little scenes kept happening instead. I tried to still keep control of the pacing, though, so lemme know if it works?


	7. My Hands are Shaking Too

Matt

Hushed voices in his living room. He was lying on his extra blanket, and from the smell of it, he’d ruined it with his own blood. He tried to sit up and immediately regretted it as something excruciating streaked across his side. The world on fire momentarily winked out.

When he was aware of things again, someone was pressing something against his side, soaking up warm liquid. “—again, Matt, not again, he _always_ does this—”

He opened his eyes, not that it did any good. “Foggy?”

“Shut up. You don’t get to move or speak. You’ve lost those privileges.”

But there was another heartbeat, too, a little faster, and another voice, a little gentler. He craned his neck. “Mom?”

“What did I just _say_ , Murdock?”

Her hands carded through his hair. “Better listen to him, Matthew. He’s quite the expert at taking care of you.”

Matt was too exhausted to argue and there was too much evidence to the contrary anyway. He let his eyes fall back closed while Foggy pressed something more firmly against his wound.

 

When Matt woke again, he was lightheaded from hunger, exacerbated by the smell of soup hanging in the air so thickly he could taste it. “Mom?”

She’d anticipated him, already at his side wielding some kind of container. “If you promise not to fight us while we get you upright, I’ll let you have some of this.”

“Deal…” Matt tried to be helpful as Foggy and his mother propped him back against the couch, but mostly he just managed not to resist.

Foggy’s heartrate increased slightly. “You’re so pale, man. Like, vampiric.”

“Think Karen will like it? Was she ever into vampires?”

“Dude, I don’t know.”

Matt suddenly froze. “What day is it?”

“Early Saturday morning,” Maggie answered. “You were pretty out of it for all of yesterday.”

He let his head fall back against the couch. “I missed our date.”

“She called me,” Foggy supplied. “She came by a bit yesterday to give you kisses and stuff. It was all very cute. Would’ve been domestic, except you’d kind of been stabbed.”

“…I don’t remember.”

“Don’t worry; you were pretty much incapable of doing anything embarrassing.”

“Good to know.” He accepted the thermos Maggie offered him; she didn’t trust his coordination to handle a bowl and spoon. Probably a good call, given how much he was trembling from blood loss and hunger and probably ten other things.

“How’re you feeling?” Her voice was warm and tired in his ear.

“Better.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“…Aspirin would be good.”

Running her hand up his arm, she pulled his head towards her so she could press her mouth to his temple. “Once you eat.”

He mimed a toast with the thermos, smiling when she clinked her own coffee mug against it. Except she didn’t usually drink coffee. “Have you slept?”

“Recently?” she asked wryly.

“Mom.”

She stood up. “Now that you’re awake, I need to get back to the church.”

Her clothes smelled of his blood. “You can, um, use one of my sweatshirts.”

“Thank you.” She disappeared into his bedroom.

“Huh,” Foggy said, now sprawled in one of the chairs.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just that you and your mom have a lot in common.”

“Covered in blood?”

“Skilled at deflection.”

Maggie returned before Matt could defend them. She was swathed in his scent and he could hear the fabric of his sweatshirt brushing against her knees. She was just so _small_. “It’s the weekend, so Foggy volunteered to keep an eye on you. I expect both of you to behave yourselves.”

“He doesn’t need to do that,” Matt said.

“Yeah, no.” Foggy threw something at Matt, who had no choice but to let it hit him in the face or else…well, moving hurt. “You’re stuck with me, buddy, unless you want me to call Jessica Jones.”

“Please don’t.” He picked up the thing. Soft. “What’s this?”

“A stuffed devil plushy. Karen brought it yesterday.”

Matt ran his hands over the shape of the thing. It was fat and lumpy and didn’t feel anything like a devil.

“Take care of yourself, Matthew.” Maggie was obviously holding back a laugh. “I love you.” Then her mouth was right beside his ear, a whisper just for him: “ _So much_.”

He closed his eyes and didn’t even attempt to force words past his tight throat.

Another kiss to his forehead, a pat to Foggy’s shoulder, and she was gone.

“Dude, your mom is the actual superhero. Forget about echolocation and backflips, she stitched you up like a mob doctor _and_ got me to—” He stopped talking.

“To what?”

“Um, you know.” Foggy’s heartrate picked up. Nervous. “Talk about stuff. She’s like a therapist or something.”

The unspoken talk-about-you hung as heavy as the scent of soup. “I’m sorry, Foggy.”

“For which part?” he yawned.

“All of it, probably. I don’t know. I can’t really keep track anymore.”

Foggy sighed. “Eat your soup, Matt.”

Okay, good. Matt really didn’t want to have this conversation on an empty stomach, with the room still slightly spinning. He was _pretty_ sure the migraine was gone, but migraines left him feeling off-balance at the best of times, even after they’d technically ended. He concentrated on feeling the hot liquid move down his throat. It tasted kind of awful, mingled with the blood lingering in his mouth from biting his tongue, but it settled in his core and slowly spread its warmth to his extremities.

Foggy was snacking on something too. Chips. The overly-processed kind Matt hated. Karen must’ve brought them when she brought the stuffed devil thing. Once Matt made it through three-fourths of the thermos, Foggy silently got up to get him two aspirin.

Matt didn’t deserve him. He was growing more confident every day that Foggy wouldn’t just up and leave if he admitted that out loud, but he still wasn’t entirely sure, so he kept the words locked behind his teeth. “Thanks,” he said instead.

“No problem.” Foggy stayed in front of him. “You need anything else?”

“The aspirin’s good, buddy.”

“Sure.” He stayed for just a breath longer before plunking back down in his chair. “I’ll be honest, because I’m sleep deprived, but I don’t really know what I’m doing here, Matt. There’s no manual on how to be take care of a superpowered vigilante. I know—I checked.”

“Amazon was sold out?”

“Shut up.”

“You’re doing a great job,” Matt said. “Clearly, I’m the one causing problems.”

Foggy scoffed. “Because you got cut up helping people?”

No. Because he got cut up losing a fight that wasn’t even about helping anyone, a fight _he’d_ started. Because he’d been angry. Because Stone had gotten so much more than Matt ever had. Matt set the thermos aside, no longer hungry.

“Hey,” Foggy said. “You’ve gotta finish that.”

“It’s almost gone.”

“You need to eat. Did you even eat before going out?” When Matt didn’t answer, Foggy’s fingers started tapping an uneven rhythm against his leg. “You shouldn’t have gone out at all.”

Matt stifled a groan.

“Seriously, man. What were you thinking?”

“I was watching over Ella.”

“And _this_ happened?”

“There were complications.”

“Shouldn’t have even gone to that meeting,” Foggy muttered under his breath. He probably hadn’t intended Matt to hear, but…well.

“You mind sharing with the class?” Matt asked.

“You want me to?”

“You want to.”

“Don’t do that, Matt.”

“Just tell me.”

Foggy sat there for a moment. Then his breathing changed as he was about to speak.

 

Foggy

Karen said to let Matt process but she hadn’t said anything about what to do if Matt _asked_ for a freakin’ fight. All of a sudden, Foggy was so angry and tired and mostly angry because Matt was sitting there, shriveled up from wounds which he wouldn’t have received in the first place if he just acted like he cared about his own continued existence. Which he clearly didn’t, because it was only thanks to sheer luck and the Follow Karen’s Advice plan that Foggy had been in his apartment to stop him from bleeding out on his stairs.

“Yeah, okay.” Foggy tossed the bag of chips aside. “Let’s start at the beginning. That meeting was going to be hard enough on you and you knew it. You had a migraine. You should’ve just _stayed at the office_.”

“Are you kidding me right now?” Matt snapped. “Are you really gonna pretend none of the stuff I found out matters?”

How was it possible to be this furious with someone clutching at a bandage the size of the American flag? “ _Everything_ you found out matters. Geeze. It’s just that you didn’t have to find it out right then. Timing, my friend. That’s the issue here.”

“Yeah? I think you think there’s a much bigger issue.”

Okay. That was true. “But we could’ve arranged to meet Ella at Everett’s and you could’ve done your creepy let-me-feel-your-broken-bones-while-we-bond thing _there_ instead of bouncing back and forth between taking care of her and dealing with her terrible mom— _with a migraine_.”

“Stop talking about the migraine. As a special favor. Before I go insane.”

Already there, buddy. “Migraines suck and you have supersenses.”

“Which isn’t exactly news to me, believe it or not. I’ve figured out how to handle it.”

That, right there, was a bald-faced lie and Matt must be feeling spectacularly awful because he didn’t even try to make it sound convincing. “Did you take painkillers yesterday? Strike that. Did you take one single painkiller?”

Matt picked at the stuffed devil. “No,” he said mutinously.

“I rest my case.”

“Fine, but the jury’s still out on whether any of that matters.”

Foggy threw his hands in the air. “What do you want me to do, Matt? Just let you make bad decisions?”

“ _Yes_ ,” he said emphatically, and his stupid, bloodless face actually lit up at the idea. “That’s exactly what I want. Foggy, you’ve got it.”

How dare he say that _genuinely_. “I can’t do that. It’s not fair.”

Matt opened his mouth, then closed it and cocked his head.

Foggy dragged his hand down his face. “It’s not fair to me,” he clarified. “Or Karen. Or your mom.”

The confused look didn’t go away.

How was he supposed to explain this? Setting aside the fact that he shouldn’t even have to. “You worry about Karen and me, right?”

“Foggy, you know I do.”

“Even though we’re not you. We’re totally separate people.”

He spread his hands helplessly. “And…?”

“Why do you care so much about what happens to us?”

“Because…you’re my friends.”

Not good enough. Foggy kept pushing. “So what?”

“I don’t want to see you get hurt!”

“ _Why not?_ ”

“Because it hurts _me_ ,” Matt blurted out.

The words hung in the air and Matt looked like he wanted nothing more than to take them back.

Foggy couldn’t quite muster the energy to close out the argument. Matt had turned his head away, as if that could hide the tears gathered in his eyes. Foggy just wished he knew why there were tears at all. Because he hated weakness? Or because he finally understood that people cared about him enough that his pain could hurt them?

They both sat in silence. Matt didn’t face Foggy again until his eyes were dry.

“Hey,” Foggy said softly. “We don’t have to do this right now.”

Matt rested his head back against the couch. “I know.” Then he added reluctantly, “This is probably a good time, though. Since I can’t really, y’know, flip away if you say something that…that hits too close to home.”

Wow. Okay. “Uh, thank you. Okay.” He gathered his thoughts. Tread carefully, Nelson. “It’s just…what you just said…that’s exactly it. It hurts us when you hurt.”

“It shouldn’t.”

“Why? Because you don’t think you’re worth it?”

He gave a wan smile. “That’s a very leading question, Counselor.”

“Can you just answer it for me anyway?”

Matt closed his eyes. “Yes. Yes, okay? Because it doesn’t make sense.”

“What doesn’t?”

“You know what.”

Foggy’s heart felt so heavy. “I really don’t.”

Matt opened his eyes; they were watery again. “You and Karen bring so much good into the world, and I c-can’t…I’m so _angry_ , Fogs. Still, after all these years. I’m _furious_ with Stick even though he helped me learn so much, and I’m angry at my mom because she left me even though I know why she did it, and I’m angry at my dad because he _died_ , and how does that—how does that not make me the worst person on the planet?”

Foggy didn’t even know where to start. “It doesn’t,” he said lamely.

“Oh, because I also _help_ people, right?” Matt’s voice was thick with sarcasm. “Yeah, well, all of that’s tainted by the same anger, so I don’t think it really counts.”

“Wait, first off, no,” Foggy spluttered. “It’s not like you have to balance all the good and bad things to be worth something, Matt, geeze. You’re worth it because you’re _you_. Aren’t you the one who’s supposed to have that whole God-gives-everyone-value thing? You don’t have to earn value! You just…you just have it.”

Matt kind of rolled his eyes, the way he always did when Foggy tried to use Catholicism to make a point. Foggy wished Sister Maggie would come back, but sending an S-O-S signal over a theological crisis didn’t seem justified so soon after sending an S-O-S to stitch up a stab wound.

“Secondly,” Foggy continued loudly, “doing a good thing for slightly wrong reasons is still a good thing.”

“Really.”

“Also, doing a good thing in slightly the wrong way can still be a good thing.”

Matt raised his eyebrows.

“Shut up, I’m trying to articulate something profound.” Foggy stood up and paced for a second. “Okay. It’s like…this.”

“What?”

“Exactly!” Foggy pointed triumphantly. “Tell me this: am I being a good friend to you right now?”

Matt’s mouth twitched. “At the moment?”

“Answer the question, idiot.”

“Yeah,” he said, suddenly serious. “You’re being a great friend to me. You always are.”

“Even though you can’t even figure out what I’m trying to say?”

Matt shrugged.

“See? You can do a good thing for slightly wrong reasons or in a really clumsy way and it’s still a good thing. I mean…” He sat down next to Matt and must have jostled him because Matt sucked in a pained breath. “D’you know how many things I do that look really nice on the outside but are actually kind of selfish or…” What was a good sin to use an example? Definitely not lust. “I don’t know, prideful or something?”

Matt shrugged again.

“Lots, buddy. Lots. And if I waited until I had totally perfect motivations, I’d never do anything good. We’re human. We _can’t_ be perfect. That doesn’t mean…it’s not a zero-sum game, like you’re either perfect or of no value at all.”

“Fancy terminology.”

Why couldn’t he just _listen_?

“I am listening, Foggy.”

Oh. “Did I say that out loud?”

“No, but I know you’re thinking it.” Matt flipped the stuffed devil over, fidgeting with it more strenuously. “And I am. I’m trying. I’m trying to…trust you and tell you things. I told you about Stick’s bracelet, remember?”

He remembered. He’d never forget.

“And, uh, last night…the reason all this happened…” Matt waved a hand at his injured self. “I was trying to watch over Ella and this guy showed up. Stone. He, um…Stick trained him, too.”

Foggy was torn between relief that Matt was volunteering this information on his own and dread at whatever he was about to say.

“He’s a better fighter than I am, Fogs. Because Stick stayed with him. For, like, ten years. You know how many years I got, Foggy?” His jaw ticked. “One. _Maybe_. Depending on whether we’re counting all the national holidays.”

“ _Good_.” Foggy tried to put all the vehemence he could into one word.

“No, not good. I…” Matt’s eyes glistened again and he looked up at the ceiling. Foggy wished he’d just let the tears fall. “I wasn’t good enough. Stick said so, and he wasn’t lying.”

Slowly, Foggy reached out and took Matt’s hand.

“What are you doing?” he asked nervously.

“I’ve given up. Shh. I’ve given up trying to argue you into seeing your own worth. So I’m just gonna sit here with you, okay?”

Clearly a good call, because Matt let himself sink deeper into the couch. “Okay.”

Foggy leaned his head against Matt’s shoulder. No, they were not snuggling. Matt simply needed warmth because there was this thing called blood that he’d lost a lot of last night. “New ground rules,” he murmured. “I never try to keep you off a case again as long as you tell me what’s going on with you. Like with that Stone guy. You have to tell me when something like that happens.”

“Uh, I did, Foggy. Just now.” He tapped his hand against Foggy’s leg. “Maybe you’re the one with a concussion.”

“You have a concussion?” Foggy squawked.

“No, no, sorry. Bad joke.”

“Bad joke my shiny Irish—” Foggy mustered his patience and tried again. “I was trying to keep you off Ella’s case _preemptively_ because I was anticipating radio silence from you as soon as things got bad. Make sense?”

Matt sat up straight, ruining Foggy’s comfortable position. “No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“That makes no sense at all,” he insisted.

“What, because you consider yourself such an open book?”

“Let’s just say, for the sake of discussion, that I accept your thing about, um, not wanting me to be hurt _because-it-hurts-you_.” He said that last part very quickly, like that would lessen the truth of the words. “That only reinforces the fact that you shouldn’t want me to tell you whenever I—whenever something happens,” he finished unconvincingly.

That…that was absolutely the wrong conclusion to draw. He couldn’t land further from the right conclusion if he _tried_ and now Foggy was sitting bolt upright. “What are you even talking about? I wouldn’t freak out so much if you didn’t do that thing where something is bothering you and you don’t tell me!”

“But nothing was—”

“It doesn’t even have to be me! But you never tell anyone _anything_.”

“No, I—”

“When it was back before I know about your superpowers, that almost made sense. Still awful, but arguably justifiable. Now, though? It’s like you don’t—” Foggy inhaled sharply. “Who were you gonna tell, Matt? About Stone or whatever? Who’ve you told about that stupid ice cream wrapper, huh? Have you told your mom?”

He stiffened and winced, hand moving to his side. “And make her feel guiltier for leaving me?”

“What? No! But if I just knew you were maybe getting help for dealing with all this hurt that keeps happening to you, I wouldn’t—” The words were all tangled up in his throat, in his chest. “I wouldn’t—” Now his eyes were stinging. He squeezed them closed and hunched forward, pressing his face into his hands. “ _Shit_.”

All he could hear was his own shaky breathing. Then a hand brushed light as a feather over his shoulder. “Foggy?”

“Gimme a sec,” he mumbled into his hands. “I’m okay.”

Matt didn’t withdraw his hand.

Foggy swallowed five times in a row. “I’m okay, really. I just…geeze, Matt.” Then he looked up and saw Matt’s face weirdly close to his.

“I didn’t know,” he explained softly. “I didn’t know you thought that way.”

Foggy put two fingers over Matt’s wrist where he could feel his heart beating unflinchingly. How long had he lived like this, thinking like that? Was that really the rule for his life? And how was it that, after all they’d been through together, he hadn’t figured out that Foggy was an exception?

Foggy wiped at his cheeks. That probably said just as much about Foggy as it did about Matt.

It felt like an hour later, but eventually, Matt pulled his hand away and sat back. “For the record, I _have_ been trying to tell you stuff. But with the Everett case, you pretty much took away the chance.”

The chance? Like this was a stupid training exercise. Foggy was about to point out how stupid that was when the rest of what Matt said sunk in. “Oh.” He thought about it a second longer. “Oh.”

“I just haven’t had much to tell you because nothing’s been that bad, really,” he went on, words distorted by a yawn.

Oh. “Sorry,” Foggy said uselessly.

Matt shrugged, sort of wriggling down onto the couch, clearly tapped out. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“Yeah, I do. You deserve an apology.” Foggy willed his heart to beat loud and true so he could hear it. “You’re worth it, Matty. You’re worth literally everything. And I get that you don’t believe that right now, but one day, I’ll make sure you do. And that’s a promise.”

“Okay, Foggy,” Matt said sleepily. “I trust you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo this chapter is really long, relatively speaking. But the boys needed space to talk (and they hit at least three important points, by my count) so...I'm hoping this is where I say "you're welcome" instead of apologize because I'm hoping you all enjoy it.
> 
> But please, feedback, because it's always a struggle to write realistic arguments that don't drag on too long.
> 
> Bonus points if you catch the almost-verbatim Princess Bride quote!


	8. You Always See the Best in Me

Foggy

Foggy woke up with his head on Matt’s arm, leaning against the side of Matt that wasn’t terribly injured. He almost didn’t care that the sun was in his eyes, shining through those ridiculous windows, which was why he was awake at all this early on a Sunday morning. Matt was still dead to the—nope. Foggy needed to stock up on family-friendly expressions, effective immediately. Anyway, this was a nice moment, just lying there. Matt had regained enough life that he was actually radiating a small amount of body heat and Foggy was content to soak in it.

Then he figured he should brush his teeth before Matt woke up and he knocked his best friend out with morning breath. He extricated himself from their snuggle pile and padded into the bathroom for a spare toothbrush (he deliberately did not think about Karen using it), then ambled to the kitchen. He’d promised himself pancakes and hot chocolate and Foggy Nelson was not one to break promises.

Every once in a while, he’d stop and look over the counter at Matt, still fast asleep at an awkward angle with his legs stretched out and his head lolling over the arm of the couch. Then he dropped his gaze to the sink. There were still bloodstains from when he and Sister Maggie had washed their hands.

It was kind of scary, loving someone so breakable.

Probably was even scarier for people like Matt and Karen, who’d had so many people they loved actually break.

Foggy cleared his throat. Enough introspection for the day. Strike that, for a week. Matt’s kitchen was basically empty, except the Thai food he’d stuffed in the fridge and didn’t want to think about, but Foggy had foreseen this and brought stuff from home. He was just boiling the milk for hot chocolate—it would be so much easier if Matt got over his microwave snobbery—when Matt stirred and lifted his head.

“Please don’t get up,” Foggy called.

“Bathroom,” he replied.

“Can I help?”

“Well, that sounds uncomfortable for both of us.”

Foggy moved the pan of milk off the stove and went to help Matt get to his feet anyway. “Why are you the way that you are.”

“God’s design,” he said blithely.

That reminded him. “It’s Sunday. Matt, if you try to go to mass, I will personally—” Then he stopped. “Actually, you know what? If you want to make the extremely, extraordinarily, _exceptionally_ bad decision to drag yourself around Hell’s Kitchen with a bloody stab wound, I will not stop you.”

Matt stopped shuffling towards the bathroom and turned his head back towards Foggy, forehead creased like a puppy. “Thank you, Foggy.”

“Don’t be all sappy when I’m being sarcastic. Go to the bathroom.”

With a casual salute, Matt resumed shuffling.

This guy.

By the time the hot chocolate was done, he was back, and also apparently in the mood for sitting up. He accepted the mug Foggy handed him. “I’m going next week.”

An apparent non-sequitur. “What?”

“To mass.” Then Matt angled his head down towards his mug. “You could come,” he told the hot chocolate. “Not for mass. But, uh, if you want to meet my mom.”

“Newsflash, buddy. I met your mom. Yesterday and the night before, elbows-deep in your blood. We’re forever bonded through trauma.”

He laughed faintly. “I mean, if you want to meet her under normal circumstances.”

Foggy pretended to contemplate this. “Am I allowed to swear in front of her?”

“She’s heard worse from me.”

“Oh, good.”

Then Matt frowned and Foggy waited for him to spit out whatever he wanted to say. “But, uh,” he said finally, “I’d…appreciate it if you didn’t.”

Foggy couldn’t keep the smile off his face, because Matt Murdock had _feelings_ for his _mother_ whom he wanted to protect from Foggy’s heathenish language. “No problem, buddy. I’ll try extra hard to filter.”

 

Foggy did indeed swing by the church later that day. He was on a public mission to retrieve Matt’s sweatshirt and a private mission to thank Maggie for who she was as a person. It was a bit awkward because he slightly mistimed things—apparently Catholics have multiple masses. Masses? Massi? Whatever—so he had to stand around uncomfortably until people started leaving. But Maggie tracked him down unerringly, holding a backpack by the top strap.

“Good to see you with some more blood in your cheeks,” she greeted him.

“You should see Matt. He actually looks like a human being again.”

“You were wonderful the other day. You know that, right?”

There was definitely more blood in his cheeks now, but he didn’t really mind that this nun he barely knew could tell he was blushing. “You were better.”

“It’s not a competition.” She handed him the backpack. “This is for Matthew. His sweater, and some food. He eats anything I give him without complaint, so it’s hard to know whether he actually likes it, what with his senses being the way they are. To think I’m actually regretful over missing the days when he wouldn’t eat broccoli.” She cast Foggy a sidelong glance. “See, I don’t even know if he was picky about broccoli. Maybe it was spinach or asparagus. I don’t know.”

“He likes cilantro, which should be against the law.”

“Cilantro.” She seemed to test the feel of word on her tongue. “Thank you, Foggy.”

“He really loves you,” Foggy told her, because she needed to know that.

“Does he,” she murmured.

“I tried to convince him, after you left, how much we all love him back. Don’t know how well it worked.”

“We’ll keep trying. I only wish he could see himself as God sees him.”

Foggy narrowed his eyes. “I don’t think Matt wants that, actually.”

“God isn’t angry with him,” she said, and it sounded like something she’d had to say a lot, in one form or another.

“I kind of feel like that’s the thing with religion, though,” Foggy said, watching her carefully. “The more religious you are, the more rules you realize you’re breaking, and the guiltier you feel.”

“That’s not how it’s supposed to work.”

“And yet,” he said pointedly.

She pursed her lips. “Where sin increases, grace abounds all the more.”

“Does anyone really believe that, though?”

“I do. I have to.”

“Well, if you can convince Matt, I’m all for it.”

“He’ll get there.” She offered him a small smile. “With friends like you, how could he not?”

He blinked. “Not sure I understand the leap you’re making from grace and stuff to me being friends with him, but thanks.”

“Grace is just undeserved favor. What else do you think your friendship is?”

What? Did she not know Matt at all? “If you start telling Matt he doesn’t deserve my friendship, I’m never letting him speak to you again.”

“Saying he deserves it implies he had to earn it, and saying he had to earn it implies he could lose it,” she said simply. “Your friendship is a gift from God that can’t be taken away.”

Okay, that sounded marginally better. But, wait, so she thought he was God’s gift to Matt Murdock? “Sure, no pressure at all.”

“Don’t panic.” She patted his arm and gave him a confident little smile. “You’re not the only one who loves him.”

 

Matt

Getting to work Tuesday morning was a little painful, but Matt flat-out refused to work from home another day. Foggy filed the Everett claims by himself on Monday and today they were giving notice. Technically, they had ninety days after filing to serve the defendants, but they hadn’t wanted to wait. For Ella’s sake. Also…for personal reasons.

They were dividing and conquering with regards to service. Foggy had offered to serve Kyle Conway because he was worried Matt would throw a punch or something. Matt wanted to argue, but then he sensed Foggy’s adrenaline spike and realized Foggy was looking forward to shoving notice of the suit into Mr. Conway’s abusive hands, so he backed off. Presumably he’d hear all about the encounter at that evening’s we-love-each-other meeting.

Now Matt was on his way to Mrs. Conway’s. He took a cab this time, which was nice. Outside the house, he straightened his tie and was about to ring the doorbell when the door opened and a small projectile rammed into his lower body.

“Ella!” Alice admonished.

“I saw you coming!” she yelled.

Matt balanced against the side of the house while Ella wrapped her arms around him, trying not to grimace at the fact that approximately three of the stitches on his thigh had ripped and he now felt blood seeping through his pants. The fabric was supposedly a dark color, at least. As long as Ella didn’t rub against the location of the injury, it should go unnoticed.

Tiny arms still around him, she tipped her head back to look up, up, up at him. “I was watching for you from the window.”

“You knew I was coming?” Carefully, he maneuvered until he was crouched down in front of her.

“Mommy said today might be a little bit sad, so she asked Alice to let me come here and see you. Why is today sad, Matt?”

He didn’t answer, too thrown by trying to figure out whether Elizabeth wanted Ella at the house for her own comfort or whether Elizabeth knew Ella would be sad once she found out about the proceedings and…what, thought letting her see Matt would help?

No matter; Ella was distracted. She moved her fingers against the new bruise blooming over his cheekbone and he marveled at how light her touch was now in contrast to the way she’d rocketed into him a second ago. “What happened?”

“I ran into a bad person. I’m okay.”

“You should stay safer,” she said reproachfully.

He smiled. “I will.”

“Where’s Foggy?”

“He’s doing other stuff.” Like making sure her dad never laid so much as a finger on her ever again. “He’ll be jealous I got to see you. Do you want me to tell him anything from you?”

“Tell him…” She made a thoughtful noise. “Tell him I think he’s really nice. Don’t you think?”

“I do. I definitely do.”

Her hands moved to his glasses. “Can I see?”

“What, again?” But he let her remove them and tried to aim his eyes where he hoped hers might be. “They’re still kinda broken.”

“They’re still really pretty.”

“Ella,” Alice said from the doorway, “give Mr. Murdock his glasses back.”

“Sorry.” She put them back on his face, sort of jamming them over his ears, and he straightened them when he thought she wasn’t looking.

“I understand you’re here to see Beth?”

“Yes. Can you keep Ella with you for a few minutes?”

Ella was not thrilled with this idea. “I want—”

“It’s grown-up stuff, chickadee.” Alice plucked up Ella’s hand. “Let’s go back to drawing.”

She seemed to consider this before nodding, but she grabbed Matt’s hand while Alice steered her into the house so that the three of them formed an odd train. Matt disengaged himself by the living room, leaving Ella to follow Alice into the dining room.

Mrs. Conway was standing in the middle of the living room, smelling of tears. “I’m so sorry.”

He stepped into the room. “I’m not the one who needs to hear that.”

“She won’t understand what’s happening, why I…”

He held out the summons. “She will one day.”

Her hand shook as she accepted the paper. “Mr. Murdock, you’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

He cocked his head.

“Do you know if…if she’ll hate me?” Shame tinged her words, but so did determination. She needed to know this. “Later?”

Law school failed to prepare him for this conversation. “That depends on a lot of things. But Ella still sees the best in people.” He should probably stop there, but he couldn’t. “Just…just make up your mind now, all right? Maybe you won’t get custody back, but make up your mind if you plan on being in her life. If that’s what you want, you have to _be there_ and you have to put her first. Got it? If not, just…get out now.”

Elizabeth held the papers to her chest. “I…”

“Just decide.” He wanted to say more, but then he merely nodded and stepped back. “Anyway. Mrs. Elizabeth Conway, you’ve been served.”

She sniffed.

Matt still wanted to say more. What, exactly, he wasn’t sure. Just something. Instead, he turned around and made his way into the dining room. “Hey, Ella—”

“I’m not done!” she shrieked.

“ _Ella_ ,” Alice said.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “But he came back too soon.”

“I did?” Matt was amused. “Should I come back in five minutes?”

“Yes!”

“Ella, Mr. Murdock might have other things he needs to do.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “I offered.” Then he backed out of the room and dutifully spent five minutes listening to Mrs. Conway crying silently in the other room while Ella made furious scribbles some paper. Eventually, she slid off her chair and appeared at his side, taking his hand and leading him to the table.

“I know you can’t see this,” she said seriously, “so I drew _extra_ hard ’cause Miss Alice said you might be able to feel all the marks.”

“Oh…wow.” He let her move his hand over the paper and, sure enough, he would’ve been able to feel the deep indents even without enhanced senses. “What am I looking at?”

Alice smothered a snort.

“It’s my new home. See?” She ran his index finger over a square shape. “That’s my bed. It’s _really_ soft.” Then she showed him more scribbles so quickly he could barely track where the grooves began and ended. “And this is Mommy and this is Mr. Burnham and Miss Alice and Miss Melanie and that’s my friend Tasha!”

“That’s a lot of people.”

“They’re my favorite real-world people. And _this_ …” She traced his finger over a smaller figure, “is me. And _this_ …” She moved to two larger figures, “is you and Foggy. We’re holding hands.”

Matt did not tear up. He didn’t. “We’re holding hands right now.”

“I know!” She twined her fingers together with his and squeezed. “I made this for you so you can keep it and know about all my favorite people.”

“I’ll hang it up in Foggy’s and my office,” Matt promised. “Next to all our important papers.”

“You _will_?” She sounded awed.

Mrs. Conway came up behind him. Presumably she’d dried her tears. Matt was certain Ella noticed something was off, but she didn’t say anything for once.

He squeezed her hand in return and let go. “I’m gonna leave you with your mom and Miss Alice right now, Ella, but I’ll come visit you at your new home. You can show me your friends.”

“And you can draw with me!”

He shot a grin in Alice’s direction. “Foggy would probably be better at that than I am, but okay.”

“Thank you for everything, Mr. Murdock,” Alice said. “Can I walk you out?” She extended her arm.

Something told him not to resist. He took it. “Please, call me Matt.”

Outside, she lowered her arm back to her side. “Thank you for all you’ve done.”

“It…” it sounded trite to say it had been a pleasure. “It’s not over yet. But it needed to be done.”

“Believe me, I know. Listen, I just wanted to say…” She breathed in quickly and set her shoulders back. “You said you’d visit her. Do you really mean it?”

Matt felt the grin stretch across his face and he probably looked like an absolute idiot. “Yeah, actually. You gonna hunt me down if I don’t show up?”

“If I have to.”

“Good,” he said firmly. “I’ll hold you to that.”

 

That evening, he met Karen at a Turkish restaurant, because he’d decided that he wanted to take her on a tour of every restaurant with ethnic food in Hell’s Kitchen. She insisted she’d already tried most of them and he countered that she hadn’t yet tried them with him. It must’ve been a pretty solid argument because she didn’t object further.

“So I hung up Ella’s picture between your degrees and Foggy’s,” she was saying. “It’s really cute, Matt. She decided Foggy wears a bow tie and you have red hair.”

“But do we look dashing?”

“Hmm. That’s not the word I’d use.”

He tilted his head. “What is the word you’d use, Miss Page?”

“I was thinking…heroic.”

He felt himself flush and hoped the lighting in this place disguised it. “Thank you. And, again, I’m sorry about Friday. I didn’t—”

“Mean to get stabbed? Yeah, Matt. I kind of figured. You look better, though.”

“I feel better.”

“And your hair is amazing. New style?”

“I just thought you deserved my best efforts,” he said lightly.

She made a sound of approval. “Very smooth.”

“I try.” He reached for the bag he’d brought, which he hadn’t let her inspect despite her obvious curiosity. “That reminds me. I have something for you.”

“Oh? What’s the occasion?”

“The occasion,” he said grandly, “is that we filed two complaints, one against Elizabeth Conway and one against Kyle Conway, on behalf of Everett’s Children’s Home and, there’s no way we can lose this case. Well, we didn’t tell them that, because…” Because something could always happen. He cleared his throat. “Anyway. We’re confident. So, in anticipation of victory…” He pulled a small package out of the bag. “To the woman I trust.”

Her heart thudded loudly. “And that day, she was amazed to discover,” she muttered.

“What?”

“The Princess Bride. Tell me you’ve seen it.”

“Did you really just ask me that?” He offered her his most roguish smirk. “And what exactly are you saying, Miss Page?”

She placed her hand over his on the table, her perfect skin against his scarred knuckles. “I trust you too, Matt. I even love you a little bit.”

Those words were going to echo around his dreams for the next month. At least. He nodded at the package. “Open it.”

She tore apart wrapping. “A scarf?”

“Your other one was kind of scratchy.” It was also way too thin. “I didn’t like it.”

“Matt, this is ridiculous. This is literally the softest thing I’ve felt in my entire life. Where did you even find something like this?”

“Trade secret.”

She stood up and walked around the table.

He twisted in his chair. “What?”

“Nothing. I’m just going to kiss you.”

He could live with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your choice whether to interpret Matt’s “new” hairstyle to mean that Matt consented to letting Maggie do his hair or that Matt sat stubbornly at home for an hour, styling it and feeling the shape of it until he thought it might look good.
> 
> Also: according to my (limited) research, attorneys usually hire an independent process server to provide service, but I think it’s still possible for attorneys themselves to serve someone with notice. Anyway, I really wanted Matt and Foggy to have the catharsis of personally serving the Conways, so if this is inaccurate…sorry. 
> 
> Finally, Soulfire, your insightful comments and feels over the scarf in chapter 1 are literally the only reason I thought to have Matt buy her a new one so thank you for that!


	9. Epilogue

Karen

Matt and Foggy were already at the office when she arrived the next day. In fact, they were clustered in the conference room, their heads bent over a single piece of paper; Matt’s glasses had been cast aside. A second later, Foggy jabbed the pencil at Matt, who leaned back, blinking reflexively. “Friends don’t let friends get poodles, Matt. They just don’t.”

Matt adopted his don’t-argue-with-me-I’m-a-lawyer pose with one hand on his hip. “They’re the most intelligent breed of dog.”

“They look stupid!”

Karen leaned against the doorframe. “What about a labradoodle?”

Foggy looked conflicted.

Matt walked over so he could stroke his thumb up and down her arm. “The issue is not whether labradoodles are superior to poodles. The issue is whether I’m allowed to _get a poodle_.”

Why wouldn’t he be? “Matt, you don’t even want a dog and you hate poodles.”

He glared. “Thanks, Karen. Thanks for that.”

Foggy scowled. “Wait, really, Murdock? What, was that all just theoretical?”

“I’m just saying, if I _wanted_ to get a dog, I shouldn’t have to factor in your preference for breed.”

“No, no, I definitely get a say in this. If you get a dog, it’d be more like our dog. The family dog.”

“It’s not even a little bit like that.”

“Why exactly are you two arguing about a dog Matt doesn’t even want?” Karen interjected.

Matt sighed his most careworn sigh. “We’re mapping out a spectrum of bad decisions. I’m allowed to make certain allegedly bad decisions on my own, without any discussion—”

“Like eating that revolting off-brand cereal or wearing the yellow tie,” Foggy offered. “It does sad things to his complexion.”

Karen had yet to see this yellow tie, but she instantly wanted to.

Matt’s face was a mix of embarrassment and something shy, like he couldn’t quite believe Foggy was taking this so seriously and putting in this much effort. “Then there are the things I have to discuss with at least one person—”

“Like Daredeviling when sick.”

“Then—”

“Good idea,” Karen cut in, “but have you defined what sick means?” Because Matt had graduated _summa cum laude_ and he knew his way around ambiguity.

Foggy looked at her, then at Matt, then back at her. “Karen, you’re incredible and I pledge to you my firstborn child.”

“Um, no thanks.”

“I’d accept,” Matt said, clearly hopeful that Foggy would forget about defining sickness.

No such luck. Foggy folded his arms across his chest. “If you don’t secretly complain about the smell of Karen’s coffee—sorry, Karen—”

“ _Hey_.”

“—you’re probably sick. If you’ve thrown up at any point in the previous five hours, you’re definitely sick.”

Karen made a face. “Matt, you wouldn’t go Daredeviling after throwing up.”

Both hands on his hips now, Matt shifted his feet, cheeks tinted red. “I, uh, I have done that, actually.”

“Matt,” she exclaimed.

“What? I _survived_ , didn’t I? But I guess I won’t…do that again. According to this.” He indicated the paper with an annoyed flick of his wrist.

“And then there are things he has to discuss with two to four people,” Foggy went on smugly, penciling in a notation. “Like getting a dog.”

Matt batted the pencil out of his hand. “We haven’t agreed to that yet.” He turned back to Karen. “And then there are decisions I can’t make without actual permission, and then there are some decisions that, uh, that I can’t make at all.”

Karen nodded. She really wanted to know what decisions fit into those latter categories, but she also didn’t want to bring down the mood by asking about them. “Well, I think Matt should be able to get whatever kind of dog he wants, or no dog at all. Theoretically.”

“ _Thank you_ , Karen.”

Retrieving the pencil from the floor, Foggy brandished it at her. “Nope, nope, Karen does not get a vote.”

“Excuse me?” she asked warningly.

“You guys are dating. Conflict of interest.”

The rest of Matt’s face flushed as he stammered something unintelligible.

“Overruled,” Karen declared. “You guys finish this up, and then you can submit it to me for approval.” There was no room for debate, and she stared Foggy down until she was sure he’d gotten the message. Then she left the room and settled at her desk, but she kept an ear on them while they bickered about how many people Matt was required to consult over the design of any future Daredevil suits.

“Speaking of,” Foggy said suddenly, “have you seen any signs of that Stone guy?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“Act your age, Matthew.”

They were both children. But she could appreciate the little things, like the fact that she even understood what this conversation was about. Matt had pulled her aside the other day to tell her, quickly and dispassionately, more of the details behind his stab wound. She still had questions, but for now, she was just glad she knew something.

“He’s gone,” Matt said. “I doubt he’ll be back.”

“And how are you…doing with that?”

“I’ll train harder.”

“I thought you said he wasn’t coming back.”

“Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t train harder.”

What a beautiful idiot. But Karen happened to like watching him work out, so really, she couldn’t complain.

“You know you have to tell me if he shows up again, though, don’t you?” Foggy asked. “It’s definitely in the discuss-with-at-least-one-person category.”

“Technically, this list is only for bad decisions _I_ could make. Stone returning to Hell’s Kitchen is his decision, not mine.”

Karen rolled her eyes. Lawyers.

“Keeping it a secret would be your decision,” Foggy argued. “Your very bad decision. You have to tell me if you decide to keep it a secret.”

“That’s an oxymoron.”

“You’re an oxymoron. And, all right, you don’t have to tell _me_. But someone.”

“Okay, okay. I know.” There was a moment of silence. Then, more quietly: “Foggy, who do you tell?”

Foggy didn’t have to ask what he meant. “Who do I _not_ tell is the better question.” He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was more serious. “I tell Marci things, except when it relates to, you know, superheroing. I tell Karen about that stuff, usually, but it’s kinda weird now that you two are dating. After everything that happened last week, I think I’m gonna start telling your mom things. Be prepared. Secrets will be shared.”

“I trust her,” Matt said simply.

Oh, Matt. Karen wondered if he’d told Maggie out loud, or just with small touches.

“But, for the record,” Foggy went on, “and even though I stand by my previous points that you don’t have to earn my friendship or balance good stuff with bad stuff or anything, so it doesn’t really matter, you should know, regardless, that I _do_ think you’re trying to, uh, not shut me out so much, and I _have_ noticed, and I…I just wanted to…thank you for it. For that. Specifically.”

“Like half of what you just said made sense,” Matt said.

There was the unmistakable sound of Foggy throwing something at him. “Shut up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’ve read this story all the way through, pleeeeease listen to the song that inspired it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R3GQZyRK1Pg. The maker of the lyric video clearly has a weird relationship with capitalization, but still. I think it’s beautiful.
> 
> In conclusion, thank you, all you dear, wonderful readers, for giving me such inspiration for this story. I literally wrote the whole thing in like three and a half days and that’s at least 50% because of your amazing comments. Now I’m gonna crawl in a hole and do, like, actual school and talk to, like, actual people.
> 
> Until next time. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Work and chapter titles from "The Best In Me" by Sent By Ravens.


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